Poison and Wine
by Wolf's Avarice
Summary: (Alternate Beginning to AC:IV) Captured by thieving marauders, her hope of survival was waning fast. Yet by an ill-fated stroke of luck, she finds herself rescued by none other than Captain Edward Kenway. (Edward/OC) Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi all – like most of you, I can't be bothered waiting over 7 months for the game to finally be released, so I thought I'd give my own person twist on an alternate beginning to the story! Don't worry – there will be plenty of hot, sweaty scenes in chapters to come. ;)**

**As revealed by Ubi's website, the game begins in 1715 – but other than that, I don't really have much else to go on, so I'll try and keep Edward as close to his description as possible (brash, young, cocky, fearsome, etc). All dates, events and characters introduced will be as historically accurate as possible. Enjoy!**

* * *

January 1715

_I hate ships._

Not because of the smell; the dank stench of brine and barnacles was an assault to the senses, but bearable to some extent. I could pinch my nose and be blessedly free of the putrid smell, even if the relief was short-lived.

Those words repeated mindlessly in my head. _I hate ships._

Not because of the lurching waves that heaved the boat back and forth, or the nauseating seasickness that accompanied the hull's endless teeter. Not even because of the hot, slimy air that burned inside my lungs with each breath, or the fact that every surface was slippery and wet to the touch.

I hated ships because of the darkness. The prison chamber that confined me must have been in the deepest hold of the ship, where the air was stale and darkness was all I could perceive. I could scarcely see my own hands in front of my face.

From what I could tell, metal bars surrounded me on all sides except the rear wall, which was solid wood, and likely the sidewall of the ship. An iron shackle gripped my ankle and secured me to the floor; the chains offered little slack, but allowed me some freedom to move around. I gripped the damp bars and heaved until my muscles ached, knowing that the gate was locked, but I refused to sit idly like a helpless child awaiting whatever miserable fate would befall me.

Through the loud rolling of seawater, I could faintly hear the voices of those awful men from somewhere above, and I felt myself scowl in futility. My throat was so parched from screaming that there was no point in trying to make any noise – not that it had solved any of my problems in the first place. I choked back a despairing sob, not allowing my dignity to be broken. Sagging weakly against the floor, I closed my eyes and curled my arms around my poorly clothed body, wishing with all my heart that I would wake any moment and be free of this nightmare.

I slept fitfully, the hard surface of the floor a poor substitute to the comfort of my own bed. The heat was unbearable, and the continuous rising and falling of the ship eventually overpowered my stomach; bile spewed from my gaping mouth, and I tried with what little effort I had to avoid covering myself in the foul-smelling substance.

Sometimes the voices would become louder, and light would flicker briefly as men opened the hatch-door to the main deck, but as I was at the lowest berth of the ship, I barely even caught a whiff of clean, fresh air. The shackle cut into the tender flesh of my ankle whenever I strained against it, so eventually I gave up my struggle. My lips were dry, yet burnt feverishly, and I could no longer tell whether my cheeks were sodden from my own tears or from the salty moisture of the ship.

I could only discern the passing of days by the pattern of my waking hours; the absence of light made it almost impossible to know what time of day it could be, and with each bout of restless sleep, I grew more delirious and insensible. My tongue felt like a desert, the linings of my mouth and lips dry and stinging with desire for water. Dehydration sucked the sense from my body; at times I resorted to licking the wooden floor just to taste the damp moisture on my tongue for a few blissful moments, yet the salty tang of seawater only enflamed my cravings. I slept to relieve myself of the hunger and thirst that wracked my body, my anguish so unbearable that I no longer cared for my fate at the hands of these marauders.

Light flashed briefly, illuminating the musty confines of my cage and stirring me from my daze. I blinked vaguely, my eyes coming into focus as I saw the shadow of a person emerge from somewhere along the upper deck. The sound of creaking stairs was followed by forebodingly slow footsteps, the faint scuffing of boots on the wooden floor growing closer.

I shuffled listlessly towards the back wall and averted my eyes downward, refusing to acknowledge my captor. I heard a slight sneer from the affronting man, yet I dared not move.

"Oi!" I winced slightly at the abrasiveness of his voice, but continued to ignore him.

"Look at me, ya little wench." His heavy accent caused my brows to furrow delicately. He was an Englishman - a rough-sounding Englishman. None of this made any sense.

"Ya gonna fetch us a pretty penny, eh? Reckon you'll feel right at 'ome with the other redlegs."

The sour stench of rum wafted into my nostrils, and my chest tightened as I suppressed the need to cough. It was apparent by his irrational chuckling that he was drunk, but unsettlingly, his words may have held some merit. If he spoke the truth, then I was to be sold for money – but to whom, I couldn't fathom. His crude slang meant little to me, and I was too stubborn in my ways to acknowledge him now, even in my exhausted state.

"Mmmmm…" his gruff voice drawled languidly as he leaned against the metal bars and tipped his head back, the swaying motion of the ship probably too overwhelming for him to maintain balance. He wasn't just drunk – he was absolutely legless. His sleazy gaze returned to rove slowly over my body and the tattered undergarments that offered my body scarce coverage.

"C'mon blondie, show me those pretty blue eyes, eh…" I scowled in distaste at his slurred, lecherous tone. I didn't even have blue eyes. I persisted, and refused to make eye contact.

"A'right then, if that's the way ya wanna play…" His voice lowered dangerously, yet it was the jangle of keys that truly caught my attention. I felt my heart stop, and coldness spiked through my chest in fear. He fumbled with the set of keys in his fingers, his shoulders wracked in subdued laughter as he finally selected one between his fingers and attempted to insert it into the lock on my cage.

Metal met with metal as he missed the keyhole twice, but on the third try I heard the faint _click_ of the lock opening. I froze, unable to move – even if I wanted to, the shackle around my ankle had me chained to the spot.

"Up, up, up!" he chanted giddily, gripping my arm and lifting me gracelessly to my feet. Oh god, _the smell! _Sweat and alcohol reeked from every part of him – his dark greasy hair, his clothes and his breath all exuded a sickly aroma. I gasped and pushed my clenched fists against him, but the sheer size of the man made my struggle futile.

His broad hands traced greedily around my waist, but I continued to fight against him, my voice stuck in my parched throat as panic continued to spread.

"Now, now, m'lady…" he chided, the tart gust of his breath billowing in my face. "Be a good little whore."

I turned my face as far away from his as possible, and he sank his mouth over my exposed neck with ravenous impatience. My breath hitched in disgust, and in a moment of fear, my hand flailed out in panic and scratched him forcefully across the cheek. He grunted in pain, but didn't move, instead biting down hard against my throat. I cried out in pain, the sharp agony overbearing my weak body, and I hung limply against my aggressor, helpless.

His breath blew heavily against my neck as his hands travelled downwards, and just as his fingers brushed coarsely against my thighs, the ship lurched violently to the side, the heavy motion colliding both of us against the wall. The thunderous boom that accompanied was deafening, and reverberated loudly throughout the wooden framework of the entire ship.

"Shit!" he exclaimed bewilderedly, staggering to find his footing.

Light entered the room faintly as someone from the upper deck opened the hatch-door. "Cannon fire! Get your arse on the gundeck, Johnny!"

"Bloody hell," he murmured under his breath, stumbling forward and awkwardly lumbering out of my cage. He was gone by the time I'd clambered to my feet, leaving the gate ajar, and when the hatch was shut once more, I was returned to darkness. I heard the voices above calling and hollering even rowdier now - orders from the captain, curse words, obscenities, roaring and yelling. Chaos surrounded me as a second cannonball struck the ship, yet somehow in my disorientation I managed to grab onto the iron bars that surrounded me and use them for support. I held on for dear life, unable to do anything with my foot still secured to the floor.

The ship steered sharply to the left, and my body was flung to the side, but I managed to keep my grip on the slippery metal and remained upright. The sound of boots on the decks above me became louder as the pirates darted in all directions, probably manning the gun or cannons or whatever artillery this ship was equipped with. I really knew nothing about warships.

"FIRE!" I heard the order from somewhere above, and an array of explosions echoed deafeningly around me. My heart pounded in my chest as I could barely hear the sound of my own thoughts.

For one bittersweet moment, I believed that this could have been an attempt from the unknown ship to rescue me – yet my stomach sank at the reality of the situation. If that were true, they wouldn't be firing at us. I was going to die; there was no other way…

Another crash shook the wooden framework, and light filled the room. Almost immediately, seawater began lapping into the body of the ship, and I stared in silent horror as the freezing water soon soaked my feet. A crude, sloshing sound accompanied each sway of the ship – until it finally collided against something solid, and stabilised itself.

I had no idea what was happening.

More voices filled the air overhead; more footsteps thudded in a frenzy from above. They were boarding the ship_. Oh god._

My fingers trembled in terror, assuming the worst. Shouts of pain echoed from the main deck, confirming my fears. They would kill us all. I sank against the floor, forgetting the water pooling around me, and rested my forehead against my clenched hands, wanting to make myself as small as possible. _This couldn't be happening. Could this get any worse…?_

The hatch door to the upper deck opened suddenly, and I could hear footsteps upon the stairs. The boxes of cargo surrounding me concealed my position somewhat, though I knew I couldn't hide forever. I heard laughter from the crew as they raided all of the goods on board, breaking open crates and moving heavy chests, shouting in rowdy thrill when they found items of worth. They sounded just as boisterous, if not more so, than the crew that had captured me.

Despite their unruly and wild behaviour, they ransacked the cargo with utmost speed and efficiency. Their hectic yet orderly conduct was a marvel – but a terrifying marvel at that. The water continued to rise, now at knee-level, which explained the reason for their haste. I struggled against the chains as my fear became paramount. Even if they left me be, I would surely drown in the rising water. The ocean would kill me without hesitation – my only chance of survival would be I threw myself at their mercy.

I moved to the front of my cage, peering through the bars at the far end of the cargo hold. Their voices had ceased – the sound of footsteps on the main deck growing quieter.

No. _No!_ They were leaving!

"Aiuto! Aiutami, ti prego!" I screamed for help, resorting to my native tongue in panic, before the air in my throat ebbed away. I couldn't think – my body shivered in terror as my lungs felt like dead weights inside my chest. Water pooled around my limbs and reminded me I would soon drown. I wanted to hyperventilate, but I couldn't even breathe. I pulled at my chains, and the metal shackle bit into the flesh of my ankle, but I could feel no pain – only fear. Cruel, suffocating fear.

None of the pirates had heard my pleas for help – or so I thought.

A figure moved soundlessly between the crates; the only noise of his approach was the steady swishing of liquid as he waded through the water towards me. He appeared much calmer than the men who had invaded all of the crates only minutes ago. He was heavily furnished in leather armour, yet the most unsettling part of his approach was the fact that his hood completely obscured his eyes.

"Non mi faccia del male…" I pleaded quietly, and he stilled, listening to my voice as though reconsidering, but saying nothing. I swayed blearily, the dehydration and exhaustion apparent in my fatigued appearance. The water was at my hips now, and I struggled against the restraint on my ankle, making it plainly obvious that I couldn't move. I saw his mouth tilt in the outline of a smirk, and he entered through the open gate, wasting no time as he grabbed my submerged leg and lifted it as high as the chain would allow. I swallowed to calm myself down, uncomfortable with the forceful manner in which he touched me, but allowed him the freedom to inspect the shackle with his hands. He pulled at it to test its leniency, which caused me to recoil and wince in pain at the bruising on my ankle. I hissed through my teeth in discomfort.

"Shh…" He hushed me, placing a hand on my hip to hold me still, though I wasn't sure whether he was attempting to console me or shut me up. I watched him withdraw a familiar set of keys – _bloodstained_ keys – from a strap on his belt, and he fumbled with the shackle until the right key slotted effortlessly into the lock, freeing my leg.

He stood up slowly, water dripping from his sodden shirt. His calmness baffled me, yet somehow it soothed my panic. Before I could protest, he lowered his arm behind me and lifted me off of my feet and above the water. One hand supported my back whilst the other was placed behind my knees; he held me as though I was an item to be looted, but I was too dizzy to care. I could barely hold my head up to stop it from dangling backwards. My tongue felt sticky and too big to fit inside my mouth. Everything part of me felt ill.

After wading through the steadily rising water, we emerged on the main deck and the daylight was garishly bright. I felt almost blinded by colours; the awing blue of the sky, the brilliance of the yellow sun, the bronzen sheen of wood; everything seemed all the more vivid after being imprisoned in darkness for… oh god, how long? I couldn't think.

I lifted my arm weakly to shield my eyes, the brightness searing my vision and pounding heavily inside my head. I heard voices and words being exchanged, but felt too tired to formulate their meanings in my head.

"Christ, sir, where the hell'd you find that?"

Silence. Then more words. "There's a brig on the lower deck. She was hidden behind the crates of lumber."

"She alright, sir?"

"…No. She's not."

I felt his voice reverberate through his chest, and his arms supported my lax body with relative ease. I could feel myself on the verge of passing out; my limbs felt weightless and a lightheaded rush flooded my mind every time I inhaled. The world felt as though it was spinning underneath me.

I could hear hushed voices now, above me and everywhere at once. I felt as though I was being lowered onto something solid. I didn't even have the strength to open my eyelids.

"Oh Edward, what've you done…"

A dark, breathy laugh interrupted the rebuke. "I've made an investment." There was his voice again – deep, reassuring. Smug.

"You've found a new pet, more like."

Brief laughter filled the air again. It was a bold, daring laughter, with an apparent disregard for the other man's disapproval. I didn't like it.

"Clean her up. I need to give old Captain Henry a parting gift."

I heard a voice shout from a distance away. "The quarterdeck, Captain! He's ready to talk!"

A hushed sound of amusement was followed by the gruff clearing of his throat. "Have her ready for me in the morning, Lyford."

"Aye aye, captain." The sardonic humour was apparent in the older voice, and before I could recognise what was happening or who was touching me, I was lifted up by a pair of meaty arms and taken somewhere darker, below the deck. The sensation was lost from my head as my exhaustion finally took its claim on my body; slowly, very slowly, I surrendered to it, and fainted in the arms of a stranger.

* * *

"Oi, Captain Jennings!"

The throng of pirates parted to make way for the approaching figure, their riotous uproar ceasing in deference to the hooded-man. Upon the floor was a hunched shape, bloodied and beaten, and as the poor man lifted his face, his weary eyes sharpened in realisation.

"Edward Kenway. I shoulda known you were behind this-" his voice was cut off as the aforementioned pirate slapped him sharply across the face, silencing the entire deck. He lowered his hood, mouth turned down fiercely as his dark eyes narrowed upon the man at his feet.

"Pleasant day to you, too, Henry. Here," he tossed a brassy item onto the man's lap. "The keys to your ship."

The injured man stared despondently at the keys, before returning his furious expression to his assailant. "What good are these now – they're useless to me!"

Edward snorted in derision, leaning down to stare at the man squarely in the eyes. "You know, I thought the very same thing when I discovered that I had not _one_, but a _dozen_ sealed chests; none of which can be unlocked by those keys. Your first mate lied to me."

Captain Jennings sneered in disdain. "Well, ain't that a pity…"

"For you, perhaps." Edward gripped the smaller man by his shirt and lifted him up. Jennings groaned in pain, clutching the open wound on his stomach; blood soaked his clothes, a sure sign that his life was soon to expire.

"Tell me - why have locked chests on board that cannot be unlocked? Who did they belong to?" his voice escalated with each word, his temper finally breaking under the other captain's lack of compliance. Henry's mouth contorted into a snigger, blood seeping from the corners.

"Can't barter with a dyin' man, Edward. I ain't tellin' you filthy mutts a thing."

"As you wish…" Edward countered almost immediately, his fingers slowly tracing against the man's sodden shirt. His fingers plunged into the gaping bullet hole on the lower right side of his chest, sinking deep into the open wound, causing the man to roar in agony. His face contorted in anguish, and his yell receded to a pitiful moan as the offending captain twisted his fingers deeper.

"Where were you sailing to?"

No answer. Edward pushed his fingers further.

"_Where_ were you sailing from?!"

Deeper again. Jennings spat into the captain's face, before his head fell to the side in a fit of pained coughs. Edward growled darkly under his breath, letting the man fall to the floor in a bloodied heap. He clutched the wound again, fresh blood spilling over his battered fingers.

"Any final words, Captain Jennings?" Edward wiped the ruddy spit from his face. The injured man keeled over, blood spluttering over his lap as he coughed fitfully. Finally, he quieted, his eyes fixed to the floor.

"K-kill… her…" Henry's breaths wheezed painfully from his chest.

"Excuse me?" Edward's brow furrowed in interest, kneeling down in front of the aggrieved captain. "Speak up."

The man said nothing. Edward inhaled fiercely, suddenly overcome with patience as the dying captain gasped for air, his lungs rattling with blood and fluid. His hands trembled as he tried to push himself upright. "Kill the woman… b-before she kills… you."

An intrigued grin broke Edward's menacing countenance; he stood upright and ran a hand through his damp, flaxen hair, clearly unfazed by the warning.

"Throw him overboard."

He turned away from Captain Jennings, deciding that the man had served his finite purpose. "Let him sink with his ship." With no more words of grievance or farewell, Edward stepped down from the quarterdeck and headed towards the captain's cabin, which was situated at the stern.

The crew clambered wildly around Jennings' struggling figure, yanking at whatever flailing limbs they could grasp; his cries of protest were subdued by the uproar of the assailing men, and moments later, his body was heaved unceremoniously over the side of the ship. All but one pirate turned to watch Edward depart, and after a brief minute of consideration, followed him.

"Sir?" he opened the cabin door, finding the captain already sprawled comfortably in a mahogany armchair, drink in hand. Edward glanced apathetically towards his crewman, nodding his head as he took an indulgent swig from the mug.

"Is everything okay, sir." The inquiry was not an innocent one, as his tone did not lift curiously as most questions were asked. The captain's brow quirked slightly, though he showed no other signs of acknowledgement. He continued to gulp down the dark liquid, leisurely taking his time to respond. He placed the cup on the table beside him and traced his finger around the circular rim, deliberating over his words.

"We've accomplished a raid without any casualties, the ship's rations are refilled, we have a plentiful bounty on our hands… and my cup is full with pilfered wine. Things could not be better."

"Yes sir, but-"

"But _what._" His tone sharpened, denoting that his patience was waning.

"Well, I… I've never seen anyone speak to you with such audacity without getting a slit throat… and you just let him go. What gives?"

A faint, almost nonexistent smile shadowed the captain's lips as he downed the final sip. His gaze roamed impassively over the younger man, barely a pirate in his naivety, and a thoughtful intensity hardened his face.

"Mercy is a weapon, not a weakness."

The boy looked at him oddly, but his expression remained unchanged. "I don't understand, sir."

"If you're lucky, you'll never have to." His tone deepened with those vague words – the finality of his voice entailing that he was finished with the conversation.

"But-"

"But _nothing_, boy. Tonight we celebrate. I suggest you get an early start on the liquor before the rest of the crew."

"And what of the girl?"

Edward remained silent, his penetrating gaze searching the boy for an ulterior motive in his seemingly harmless question. His strong jaw tightened a fraction.

"None of the men are to touch her. Do I need to make that any clearer for you?"

The boy simply nodded and left the cabin, hastily warded away by the captain's daunting threat. Edward smirked for a brief moment, before pouring himself another glass, and leaned back languidly into his chair. He raised the honeyed, blood-red liquid to his lips and let it sit in his mouth for a moment, savouring the acerbic taste, before he swallowed self-indulgently.

"Tomorrow is when the fun really begins..." He murmured the words softly into the cup of wine, the surface rippling under the heat of his breath. His eyes closed contentedly, downing yet another mouthful with merciless abandon.

* * *

**What does Edward have planned, I wonder. ;)**

**If you enjoyed, please leave a review. Until next time, my friends!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Woohoo, how brilliant was the gameplay trailer?! The more excited I get the further away October seems…**

**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to all of the wonderful people who reviewed the last one. Each and every review motivates me to write more, and without your encouraging insights, this chapter would never have been written. Big shout out to The Great Wicked and Sari89, as well as the 5 guests who reviewed. **

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter almost as much as I did writing it!**

* * *

The silence woke me.

Everything was a daze – the dimly lit room was cluttered with things that made no sense. A dark-grained table stood adjacent from me, missing its fourth leg. Atop it sat a brass candleholder without a candle. Papers were strewn haphazardly over the table and on the floor, inscribed with a language I couldn't understand nor read.

As my mind became more coherent, I noticed that I was lying on some sort of bed - meager in terms of size and comfort, but a bed nonetheless. I shifted onto my back, glancing up at the wooden ceiling. The gentle swaying of the ship was actually a comfort, rather than a nuisance. A thin sheet covered my body, more for modesty's sake than for warmth, and the itchy fabric along my back served little to reassure me of the cleanliness of the sweat-scented mattress. Moments later, horror sank into the pit of my stomach as I realised that I was stark naked beneath the sheet.

I drew in a calming breath and leaned my head against the mattress weakly, my head still feeling dazed from fatigue. The night's rest had allowed me the recuperation I needed, though I was still a long way from recovery. My churning stomach burned with emptiness, and my mouth was dry as all hell; though my headache had lessened, it still throbbed sharply in my temples. Needless to say, I was feeling considerably better than the day before – that much I was thankful for, but whom I was meant to be thanking was another matter entirely.

A soft knock on the door disturbed me from my thoughts. Immediately, my eyes darted about the cramped cabin, seeing no means of escape. I wasn't ready to confront my captor yet, though I saw no means of avoiding it while being cornered in this tiny room. In a sudden decision that I could only assume was a result of poor judgment from exhaustion, I let my cheek drop to the mattress and closed my eyes. The door creaked quietly as it opened, and I let my lungs fill with musty air as I pretended to sleep.

Footsteps approached; the sound of a mug being placed on the table piqued my interest, but I gave no visible reaction to the presence entering the room. My fingers tensed beneath the sheet as I felt a broad, freezing palm press against my forehead.

"Jesus Christ." His voice was gruff and familiar – possibly the man who had carried me down here yesterday.

The back of his hand then pressed against my cheek, before his exasperated sigh washed over me. Silence followed as I felt his presence hover over the bed. Unsettled by the lack of noise, I was almost tempted to open my eyes to peek at my surroundings, before I felt the same calloused fingers touch my neck. My breath caught in my throat in surprise. The sensation was cold and feather-like, and a chill twisted through my stomach like a coil of snakes. The fingers moved downward, eliciting soft prickles along my skin, and he began to pull back the sheet to expose my bare shoulders. A shiver accompanied his wretched touch, which dwelled too long against my throat.

Fearing the worst, my eyes shot open. The astonishment on the man's face gave me a slim opportunity to throw my legs over the side of the bed and dart underneath his extended arm. The sheet sashayed behind me as I clutched it hard against my chest, bare feet thudding against wood as I hurried through the open door.

"Wait! _Stop!_"

There was little time to think as I simply picked a direction and ran. Crates surrounded me in disarray, lining the walls and inner scaffold of the ship, yet somehow I managed to navigate my way through the warren of boxes and chests. I could still feel the man's greasy hands against my skin, causing me to shudder disgustedly.

Daylight appeared ahead, streaming down upon the steps that lead to the main deck. Heavy footsteps pursued my escape, and despite my lingering hesitation, I bounded up the stairs, unaware of who else could have been on the upper deck.

My eyes ached momentarily as they adjusted to the bright sun. I whirled in a panic, seeing armed men on all sides of me, the ocean spreading vastly in every direction. I heard crude chuckling. Some jeered obnoxiously in my direction, clearly entertained by the disgrace of my bare body, whilst others paid no heed whatsoever, and remained astutely occupied by their duties.

My eyes darted for an opening and I bolted, pushing past one of the affronting men and scampering up the stairs to a raised deck, the sheet collecting awkwardly around my feet as I ascended the steps. My eyes finally settled on the object of my interest.

I tied the sheet hastily around my chest and rested my hands on the steering wheel of the ship. Condescending laughter began to rise from the witnessing crew, but I clenched my jaw and ignored their cruel amusement, scanning the horizon for any sign of help – a ship, an island, _anything._

A speck of land was all I could discern in the distance; the tiny dot in the wide expanse of blue seemed to epitomize the futility of my hope. Desperately, without faltering, I gripped the spokes of the wheel and spun it towards the remote landmass. My arms strained against the resistance of the wheel, surprised by how much effort was required to turn it. I huffed in annoyance, the merriment of the crew becoming even rowdier the more my frustration grew. The ship gradually veered to the left, and I corrected the wheel to set it on its new course.

I jumped in fright when a loud thump resounded from behind me, as though an enormous weight had dropped cleanly upon the deck. I kept my eyes fixed to my destination, but I couldn't hide the trembling of my fingers upon the sleek wood as I felt the formidable presence move closer.

"Take your hands off the wheel."

That voice - I recognised the dark timbre of that voice. I tautened my grip on the wooden helm, refusing to submit. He approached further, a hand rested unnervingly upon my shoulder as I felt a rough finger brush the hair away from my neck.

"If you wish to keep your hands, you'll take them off the wheel." His voice descended gravely as he murmured the words into my ear. A shiver ran from my neck to my fingertips, and as I felt his grasp tighten on my shoulder, I let my hands fall to my side, eyes averted in contempt.

"You _do_ speak English…" he mused aloud, voice seething in scrutiny.

Satisfied with my compliance, he yanked me backwards with one hand, and spun the wheel back to its original direction with the other. I stumbled as the ship turned sharply, before regaining my balance with a glare of defiance narrowed upon his back. A heavy-looking man stepped cautiously upon the stairs towards us, expression hardened and unsmiling.

"This is how you take care of her?" The hooded man's voice was unsettlingly calm, yet scathing.

"She got away from me, captain."

"I can see that." He ran a hand nonchalantly over the back of his neck.

"I was trying to dress the wound on her neck and she just-"

"Spare me the excuses. I gather she hasn't spoken yet." He interrupted the older man as the displeasure in his voice became hideously clear.

"Not a word, sir."

The captain's gaze lingered over my scantily clad form in consideration. I swallowed, the weight of his gaze flushing my cheeks with heat, but I held the disdain in my eyes. Finally he spoke.

"Come. I wish to speak with you in private."

My eyes moved warily from the captain to the larger man staring at me. I moved closer to the former, following him as he strode confidently down the steps. Most of the crew remained quiet in observation, though one sneered rudely as I walked past. Glaring in vindication, I bit my lip to silence myself from making my situation any worse. Despite wanting to smack the grin from his dirty face, I looked down in restraint. I had to behave if I wanted to earn my freedom, and so far, I was not exactly succeeding at earning their favour.

The captain held open the door and I waltzed past with as much dignity as possible – a difficult feat, given that I was naked with only a tattered sheet to offer my body discretion. The darkness of the spacious cabin was a welcome change to the sweltering intensity of the sun. My body didn't agree with this weather at all.

I heard the door close, but didn't turn to watch the captain approach me. Instead, I inspected the interior of the room with interest, noting the cleanliness of the living quarters. Extravagant furniture was everywhere. A large bed was situated in the far corner, immaculately furbished with fresh linen and finely threaded pillows. To my left, a full bookcase stood in noble silence, undoubtedly harbouring a wealth of knowledge shelved within a thousand or more pages. In front of me was a heavy, oak-wooded desk, complemented by a couple of worn but stately looking armchairs. The bowl of fruit upon the desk instantly held my attention. Overall, I was impressed – but my expression remained affectedly impassive as I awaited the captain to begin the conversation.

"What happened to your neck?"

His voice didn't sound particularly concerned, but I decided to humour his interest. My bare fingers grazed thoughtfully against the tender flesh – my back was still facing him, so I was unable to see his face, or discern whether his curiosity was genuine

"A man bit me."

"One of my men?" his response was abrupt and serious, and immediately I felt the need to correct myself.

"No, no. One of the men from the other ship. He was drunk…" my voice trailed off, feeling that the statement stood for itself. The captain snorted softly in understanding, causing me to frown.

"Can I offer you a drink – wine, perhaps? Or something stronger..."

My brows furrowed in distaste. "A little early in the morning for alcohol, is it not?"

He brushed past me, ignoring my words, and opened the doors of an ornate cabinet that I must have overlooked. Within the cupboard was an innumerable collection of bottles of varying size and shape. I noticed that the man's hood was down, revealing an unruly crown of dirty-blonde hair. As he turned to offer me a darkened smile that barely moved the edges of his lips, I saw something in his face that left me genuinely speechless.

Youth.

This man couldn't have been any older than me, yet he commanded an entire ship with impeccable finesse. Most of the crew were older than him, from what I'd seen. Much older.

The sharpness of his features, the hard set of his brows and the darkness surrounding his eyes all spoke of age and experience, yet they could not distract from the sleekness of his skin, or the strength of his physique. Stubble peppered his jawline, and a faint scar marred his cheek – the only visible signs of weathering on his face. He was considerably taller than me, though it was difficult to determine the shape of his build with the countless layers of hard leather armor covering his chest.

"It is rude to stare." His deadpan voice disturbed me from my thoughts. I huffed softly, the dryness of my mouth beginning to scald as I watched him take slow, thoughtful swigs of something that smelled of hard liquor. My stomach rolled as the strong scent hit my nose.

"You seem awfully young to captain your own ship."

He shrugged his broad shoulders nonchalantly, swirling the remainder of the brown liquid in the glass. "A harsh judgment from someone of no greater vantage. How old are you?"

His eyes lifted to fixate a sharp look of interest towards me. I blinked, unsure of whether to answer him straight away. The intensity of his gaze forced me to respond.

"Twenty and two." I thought it best not to return the question.

Seemingly pleased with my answer, he filled a glass with clear water from a pitcher in the cabinet and slid it across the desk towards me. Without grace, I raised the cup to my mouth, gulping down the tepid liquid with famished vehemence as though the last few weeks of my life had led up to this one, replenishing moment.

Almost immediately after swallowing, a heaving cough wracked my body and I had to brace my hand against the desk to steady myself.

The captain's indiscreet laughter did little to hide his crude amusement.

"I'm afraid your body won't be able to tolerate too much water at once if you're dehydrated." His tone was so matter-of-fact that it was smug. I wiped my mouth before the water could trickle down my chin.

"This tastes _foul._ It must have more alcohol in it than the shit you're drinking." I placed the empty cup on the table, disgust twisting my face as the awful flavour persisted on my tongue.

"Grog isn't meant to be enjoyable – the rum stops the water from going sour. It's either that or nothing."

I didn't respond, instead pursing my lips and looking away. The bed looked incredibly tempting – if I could ignore the fact that it belonged to this self-satisfied pirate. It didn't take long before he filled the silence with the sound of his own voice.

"Who are you, exactly?"

My hand lingered pensively over the bowl of fruit sitting on the desk, before I selected a green apple with the least amount of bruising. The captain's brows lifted observantly at my unexpected boldness.

"No one of great importance," I murmured dismissively, taking a large bite from the apple. It was slightly overripe, the juices brimming from my lips as I chewed in a blatantly un-ladylike manner. Seeing his intrigue sleuthed by no small amount of suspicion, I offered him an insincere smile as I continued to eat.

"I don't believe you." His tone became sombre, and I swallowed the apple with an unfazed expression.

"And why is that."

"Words can be deceitful – our eyes, however, cannot. I see a young woman with skin so pale it's unlikely she has done a stroke of work in her life."

"So?" I took another bite from the apple, my gaze sharpened at his demeaning tone.

"You speak English now, yet spoke another language when we first met."

"Italiano." I amended, expressionless.

"Yes - you have an education. You are no commoner." His fierce eyes watched me, demanding an answer. I couldn't understand why he was so unrelenting.

"Fine, I am of some wealth. When my father passed on I received an inheritance that allowed my siblings and I to live comfortably, but I assure you that is no cause for fascination."

The captain rested his chin against his hand, clearly deliberating over the certainty of my words. For the most part, my expression was honest and transparent, for I had spoken the truth so fluently that there had been no hesitation in my voice. However, it was the words that I had omitted from my story that seemed to be causing him concern. With a sigh, he continued to drink, and I continued to eat.

For some reason, the silence was not awkward. There was no fidgeting. No anxious breathing. No apprehensive looks. In fact, the more my eyes lifted casually to meet his, the more I wanted to look at him, until eventually the small smile on his lips mirrored my own.

"Lady, you look ridiculous. Drop the sheet."

I snorted, almost affording myself the luxury of rolling my eyes, but that habit had long since been disciplined out of me. My mother made sure of that.

"I hardly think so – and my name is not _lady._" My hands defensively clutched the sheet tighter to my body.

"Then what is it?" His head tilted slightly in bizarre enjoyment.

"I wasn't aware that a prisoner had the privilege of keeping their own name." My tone was more sour than it needed to be, but given that I had been captured twice in a row, I thought my bitterness was valid. He, however, did not.

"Who said I was taking you prisoner?"

"You mean… I'm free?" The surprise in my voice was genuine.

"As a bird."

The smile that spread across my lips must have appeared incredibly out of place among my dirt-streaked face; the relief that engulfed me felt like some god sent release. I was free – I could go home. I could be with my family again. The liberation was heavenly.

"This… this is wonderful! I can't thank you enough – in fact, when we return home I'll make sure that your efforts are recompensed. It will be unlike anything you've-"

"Hold on, there." His voice interrupted mine, the excitement overbearing me as my words began to ramble in eagerness. "I believe you've misunderstood me. I won't be taking you home."

I stared blankly for a moment.

"What? But… but you _have_ to take me home!" My tone ascended in disbelief, my short-lived relief quickly turned to horror.

"I don't have to do anything. The ship's course is set, and I sure as hell won't be changing it just for you."

My lips tensed in speechlessness. My dismay was even harsher after having hope dangled within my grasp mere moments ago. I placed my hands on his desk, looking him directly in the eyes as I spoke.

"You _will_ take me home. You took me from that sinking ship, now I am _your_ responsibility." My hand banged against the table for emphasis.

He merely chuckled, his apathetic expression unchanging.

"Yes, I did save you. A little gratitude wouldn't go amiss."

My hands clenched into fists at his smug mockery; he ignored my anger with such ease, and it was driving me mad

"You rescued me for your own cruel amusement, not for my safety. I have nothing to be thankful for, and you are a _fool _for thinking otherwise!"

He raised himself from his chair so suddenly that my stomach dropped at the sudden startle. He glared at me with such vehemence that I could not look away. His voice was deadly and hushed. "I am selfish by nature. I'm a decent man only when it suits me, so if that is a problem, no one is forcing you to stay."

I almost scoffed at his words. "We are surrounded by water."

His calmness was unsettling. "Yes. Yes we are."

I gritted my teeth at his crude behaviour – he was taking pleasure out of my frustration, and it disgusted me. I inhaled irritably, feeling so improper standing before him clothed in naught but a flimsy sheet.

"Do you not have anything decent for me to wear?"

He brushed the hair casually from his face and stood up, walking towards his bed and opening a nearby dresser draw. From it he obtained a long white shirt; the idle smirk upon his face caused me to snort unthankfully as I placed the finished apple core on his desk.

"I hope this is to her highness' liking," he goaded smoothly. I snatched the garment from him and turned around to dress myself. To my amazement, the shirt appeared clean and of high quality material. The threading was intricately stitched and frills ornamented the sleeves finely. I lifted it to my nose; it didn't smell entirely fresh, though not unpleasant.

I untied the sheet from my torso and let it fall to the floor without a backwards glance towards the captain, who may or may not have been watching. I slipped my arms through the sleeves and adjusted the material over my chest, appreciating the design on the gold buttons before fastening the shirt closed. Thankfully, the fabric fell just below my thighs and concealed my nether regions comfortably. I fluffed my unkempt hair over the shirt's collar and began to walk towards the door, ignoring the self-assured prig and his smug grin.

"So you will be staying with us then." It wasn't so much a question as it was a taunt.

"It seems I have no other option." My tone was icy and short.

"Excellent. You can start by scrubbing down the main deck."

I halted, turning to face the man with an incredulous expression. "Excuse me?"

"Only prisoners may live free of responsibilities. You are no prisoner."

"By no choice of mine!"

He simply smirked in condescension, lifting his hands in complacency. "Nor mine. But while you are living on board, eating our food and drinking our water, you will fulfill your duties along with the rest of my crew."

I said nothing at first, too exasperated to even respond. When I finally did turn to look at him, the words that followed were spoken with such disdain that the tremble in my voice nearly threatened to surface.

"You will regret this." I reached for the doorknob and opened the door, the brilliant light illuminating my face and hair. The captain's voice called out to me, making me pause.

"Wait!"

I turned to glare at him, mouth drawn into a firm line. I raised my eyebrow in expectation.

"You still haven't told me your name."

An airy laughter escaped me. My hand tensed on the doorknob, indecision clear in my silence. I shook my head as I walked out the door, muttering darkly under my breath.

"Go to hell."

* * *

The brightness of day seared my skin, the sun an endless torrent of heat on my back as I knelt upon the coarse, wooden decking. My fingers were stiff and raw from scrubbing, and the exposed skin on my arms and face had begun to burn a painful shade of red. My pale flesh shone blindingly in the overbearing sunlight. Everything stung, but the less I focused on my discomfort the more I was able to apply myself to the job at hand. I was nothing if not dedicated – despite the fact that I was obeying that self-righteous, self-centered captain. The more angry I felt, the harder I scrubbed.

I growled under my breath, leaning back to sit on my ankles as I wiped the sweat that was dropping down my brow. Everywhere was wet – not only from sweat, but also from the spray of the sea, and the humidity that accompanied the sun. My fair hair was cast askew in the wind and stuck gawkily to my face. I sighed in defeat as I tried to continually brush it away, but to no great success. I returned to my hands and knees and continued scrubbing, both arms aching under my weight.

"You're doin' that wrong, y'know…" A small voice behind me made me stop.

I exhaled through my gritted teeth. "I don't _care_ if I'm doing it wrong. I don't care!" My head fell forward in exhaustion. The approaching man responded with silence. Inhaling, I looked behind me and saw that it was no man, but a young boy. He must have barely been a teenager – what on earth was he doing on a pirate ship?

"I… I'm sorry. How do I do this?" My tone softened as I corrected my words, feeling somewhat guilty for releasing my frustration on someone so young. He knelt down beside me and pried the large, irregular stone from my lax fingers and held it flat in his palm.

"Well, first off, you've blunted this side pretty bad. You'd have more luck scrubbin' the deck with your arse."

I couldn't help grinning at his words, feeble as my smile was. "Y'need to turn the holystone over and scour with the rough side 'til it goes blunt – then chuck it overboard and get a new one, yeah?"

I sighed in tiredness, looking up at the sun – it was lower in the sky now. The afternoon sun was cooler, at least. I turned to look at the boy, trying to discern his age and any rational reason for him to have joined these men. His skin was obviously tanned and weathered by the sun, but his youth was indisputable. His height was no taller than my own, yet his body was slender and lean, unlike mine. He wore leather armour and was equipped with a short sword at his hip – I couldn't imagine someone as innocent as him wielding something so dangerous.

"Also, you were scrubbin' wrong. Don't follow the grain of the wood – scour the stone in a circle, like this." He demonstrated slowly, the muscles in his bony arm twitching in exertion.

"This is absurd – what is the point in scrubbing, anyway?" I murmured huffily as he placed the 'holystone' back in my aching hand.

"It sands down the wood and stops the deck from weatherin' so quickly. Gets rid of splinters, too. After that we sweep away the grit and swab the deck with seawater."

I groaned in detest, despite my determination to want to finish the job. "How am I supposed to finish all of that in just one day?"

The young boy's grin was endearing but incensing. "Well… when we all do it together it only takes half a morning."

"Then why am I the only one doing anything?" I huffed weakly. His smile grew wider as he averted his gaze, almost embarrassed.

"The rest of the crew are below deck laughin' at you. Sorry."

I closed my eyes in frustration. "Tell them to get up here _right now_, or I'll go down there myself and drag them up one by one by their gonads until-"

"Hey! No need to get yourself in a tizzy." He touched my arm reassuringly, but I withdrew it almost immediately. I was in no mood for pleasantries. I wanted to get this job finished as soon as possible, and the fact that the entire crew was below deck having a merry old time infuriated me.

"Tell you what – I'll give you a hand and let you take the credit at the end. That'll shut 'em all up right fast."

I rubbed my temple lightly, offering him a small smile. Despite my aggravation, I was thankful that at least one of these pirates could be deemed a decent person.

"That's very kind of you. What is your name?"

"Ismael is my real name, but aboard the ship they call me Rico." I almost laughed at the nickname. Their reasoning confused me, but I didn't question it.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Rico. I am Elisabeth." I extended my hand towards him out of habit more than courtesy, and after a moment of deliberation, he grasped it and shook politely. I noticed his hands were covered in scars - mostly old ones, but some were very fresh.

"A pretty name for a pretty lady." I smirked at the compliment, but took it with a pinch of salt. I didn't feel pretty at all; my hair was a mess, my body was covered in dirt and sweat, and I needed a bath like all hell, but the flattery was still appreciated.

"Shall we get to work then, amigo?" The sincerity of his smile was infectious, as I found myself smiling in return.

"Try and stop me."

We worked for the remainder of the afternoon in relative silence, our cooperation voiceless but orderly. The extra pair of hands significantly sped up my pace of work, and by following his lead, the entire deck had been scrubbed down and swept within the hour. He showed me how to swab, which involved soaking rags with seawater and wiping down the deck until it gleamed like freshly varnished ebony.

When dusk arrived, my work was finally finished. The stars were yet to be visible, and the sunset had reached its end as the vibrant, burning peach sky mellowed into darkness. The low, newborn moon illumed the ocean with a sleek, royal blue haze. The atmosphere was serene – until, of course, the rest of the crew emerged from the lower deck with dishes of food in hand, singing with drunken banter and raucous spirit.

I sat alone as they ate, watching them in both disgust and curiosity. Their conversations were crude and senseless, but I couldn't help but feel fascinated by their camaraderie. Even Rico, who I had assumed was humble and well tempered, fit in well with their boisterous repartee and chaos. They shoved and insulted each other, they laughed without inhibition, they jousted with slurred words and slang, and they drank.

…And drank and drank.

I jumped as I felt someone sit beside me, arm slung effortlessly over my shoulder. The stench of rum was bearable, but not particularly pleasant. I scrunched my nose in distaste.

"Would you like to have dinner inside with me?" He didn't sound too drunk. I looked down at my bare feet without even casting a glimpse towards the man, but I knew exactly who it was. The smugness of his voice was unmistakable.

His offer was actually quite tempting. I hadn't eaten yet – mainly because I didn't want to go below deck by myself. I also desperately wanted to get away from this loud and unruly crew of pirates to eat in peace. I sighed, standing up and dusting off my shirt. "After you, captain."

He smirked at my sarcastic tone but walked towards his cabin, which caught the attention of a few of the other men. I ignored them, and trailed behind at a distance, waiting for him to enter through the open door before I followed him inside.

The room was mostly dim, illuminated by a few scarcely placed lanterns and candles. The sound of cutlery caught my attention as he placed a dish of food on his desk and gestured me to sit. I complied, too hungry to be stubborn, and picked up the silverware. On the plate sat an appetising variety of roasted vegetables, and a portion of what I assumed was salted pork. For some reason, I had expected that dinner would be something more… primitive. I was pleasantly surprised, and began eating with vigor.

My eyes darted occasionally to the captain, who was watching me with an expression that was both unfathomable and unsettling. I swallowed my mouthful and licked the flavour from my lips. "A glass of wine would go down wonderfully with this."

I heard him exhale in thought. "Indeed."

He approached his liquor cabinet and I returned my attention to my food. "Red, please."

I heard the soft _chink_ of glass followed by the pouring of liquid, and when the captain returned, he placed two glasses on the desk and sat opposite from me. The intimacy of the situation made me somewhat uncomfortable, but I didn't let it show. I knew exactly what my purpose was here – I was to serve as nothing but entertainment to these pirates, until my resolve would finally break and they would cast me away. It explained his behaviour and the reason, or lack thereof, for rescuing me in the first place.

"I was… pleasantly surprised when I was informed that you cleaned the deck on your own."

I picked up a piece of meat with my fork and placed it in my mouth, staring at him perceptively as I chewed. "I was surprised that none of your men helped me."

He smirked in contentment. "I told them not to."

I ate another piece of meat, nodding indifferently. "Well, that _isn't_ surprising. Perhaps next time you'll think twice before underestimating me."

"I'll keep that in mind." We both took a long swig from our drinks in unison; the comical timing almost made me laugh.

"The land that I saw in the distance today – what island was that?" I gazed attentively at the captain, mouth hovering over the glass of wine as I awaited an answer.

"You mean this morning when you tried redirecting the ship and instead made a complete arse of yourself – that island?" The humour in his eyes glinted in the soft candlelight, but somehow he remained straight-faced.

"Yes," I replied curtly, giving no response to his mockery.

"Ah, that was Madeira."

"The Portuguese island?"

"Aye – are you further from home than you thought?"

I visibly deflated, answering his question for him. I returned my gaze to my dinner as I ate, but he continued to speak. "Where is your home, may I ask?"

At first I felt reluctance to share any more of my history than I needed to – but the more I persisted with being secretive, the more suspicious he would become. I couldn't afford for him to pry any further for fear of what he would discover. I swallowed.

"Italy." Knowing that he would ask more questions, I continued to offer more information before he had the opportunity to ask me anything specific. "The ship I had boarded was intercepted in the Balearic Sea and marauded. They must have sailed through the Strait of Gibraltar before you saved me."

"And do you know where they were headed?" He questioned me earnestly, and I felt my stomach slacken in relief as his interest was lead away from my history.

"No. They kept me locked up on the lowest deck. I was barely spoken to through the whole ordeal – though one of them did say something that confused me." I took a sip of my wine, trying to recall the slang that the drunken delinquent had called me.

"It was something like… red, um… redleg?"

"Ah, yes. Redlegs are white people sold into slavery in the Caribbean – that explains where Captain Jennings was heading," he explained intently, before a suave smile tilted his lips. "And judging by the colour of your skin, the title suits you well."

I glanced down at my arms, and even in the faint light offered by the candles, my skin was noticeably red with sunburn. He was right; it suited me – yet somehow, I didn't feel insulted. Perhaps I was becoming immune to his dry humour.

My plate was empty now, save for the juice from the meat. Without being able to suppress it, my mouth stretched into a yawn and I leaned back against my chair, satisfaction radiating from my body for the first time in weeks as my hunger was appeased. The final drips of wine tasted the sweetest on my tongue, and as I placed the cup on the table and stood up, the expression on the man's face was one of dark concentration. I blinked, unsure of the meaning behind it, but I continued regardless.

"Thank you for dinner," I spoke simply, without disrespect. As I began to stride away from the table, his commanding voice made me halt.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I inhaled uncertainly, wondering if all of the alcohol from the evening had gone to his head.

"I'm going to bed – I've had an exhausting day, if you must know."

"You slept in Lyford's bed last night. I doubt he will extend that courtesy again now that you're feeling better."

I turned to look at him in confusion, not understanding the implications of what he was saying. "So where am I supposed to sleep?"

The chuckle that resounded throughout the room provoked a shiver to trace its cold breath down my neck. His lips remained closed in an imperceptible smile as the laughter emanated from deep within his broad chest, the timbre low and disconcerting.

"With me."

I shook my head, hands clenched at my side as I stayed rooted to the spot. "No. That's not happening."

His grin remained as he stood up, his lewd appearance clearly attributed to the countless tankards of rum I'd seen him drink earlier. As he walked towards his bed I watched him dismantle his armour; first, the gun holsters, followed by his belt and the red sash, then the leather bracers dropped inelegantly to the floor. He unstrapped the hard leather jacket and black overcoat; he turned to face me, lifting the white shirt over his head and casting it aside with his other possessions, leaving his chest gloriously bare.

At my first glimpse of muscle I looked away, feeling oddly violated by the crude manner in which he undressed himself. He was enjoying making me uncomfortable – and the sexual tension was sickening.

I heard the sound of a bed sinking as he sat at the end of it; a faint scuffling of fabric followed by a hollow thump led me to assume he was taking off his boots. I swallowed as my throat became dry. I didn't want this. Another thump. My lungs stilled anxiously.

"Now your turn."

I exhaled breathlessly, shaking my head and refusing to look at him. "I'm not getting in that bed with you."

"Then you will sleep on the floor."

I scoffed under my breath. "If you were a decent man _you_ would sleep on the floor, and let me sleep in the bed."

I didn't even need to see him to know that he had a cocky grin on his face. "And as I told you earlier, I am only a decent man when it suits me."

I said nothing, and shook my head in annoyance, pacing myself as far away from his bed as possible. I blew out the candles and extinguished the lamps as I walked past them, and gradually, the room became darker. "I hope you choke in your sleep."

"Sweet dreams to you too, Elisabeth."

I slumped against the wall next to the bookcase and sank slowly to the floor, wondering if Rico had told him any else, aside from my name. I shook thought from my mind as I lay motionless against the floor, knees tucked to my chest protectively.

What a day. What an awful, _awful_ day.

It wasn't until I was completely still that I truly felt the aching in my muscles, weighing down every limb against the polished, wooden floor. The ship swayed soothingly in the steady swell. Every part of me felt heavy. My breathing slowed as exhaustion lined my lungs and every other crevice inside me. My body was a dead weight spiraling deeper and deeper, until eventually, I reached the bottom, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Hopefully in the next chapter we'll see some romance – not just a horny, drunk pirate. **

**If you enjoyed please leave a review. It honestly motivates me to write much faster. :D See you next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry it took so long – but this is the longest chapter so far so hopefully it was worth the wait!**

**Thank you to all my sexy reviewers (NotAsSaneAsYouThink, Nightshade07, Sari89, Shola Olivia, Prihnex, Emily Summers, AnimeFreakzoid911 and all guests) and The Great Wicked for your fantastic insights (make sure you guys check out her awesome AC3 fanfic Shiver!)**

**To Prihnex: Nope! Elisabeth wasn't born in Desmond's era… nor is she an ancestor of someone accessing her memories through the animus. I'm personally not a huge fan of the AC fanfics that crossover with modern time - not that I have anything against them. :D**

**I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

I wish I could say that the following week was easier than my first day aboard, but in truth, it was far worse.

The mornings started early, and the days were filled with long and arduous work. I swept and swabbed the deck together with the younger crewmen, most of whom paid no attention to me. I was shown how to scale and varnish weathered parts of the ship with a resin that stung my eyes and nauseated me at the smell. I sewed and mended the canvas of damaged sails, often pricking my fingers with the needle whenever the ship veered unsteadily. I'd done more work in those seven days than in the prior twenty-two years of my life, and the effects of it marred my body immediately. My hands were numb and raw; my skin enflamed by the sun, and the tiredness was as much a physical ailment as it was emotional.

My one saving grace was that the days were gradually becoming cooler, so I could work on the main deck without constantly wiping my brow of sweat, or worrying about my pale skin under the sun, which burned and peeled too easily under its harsh rays.

After the sun had set, I would help prepare dinner along with the cook, Lyford, who also served as the ship's doctor. I rarely saw him above board, as he spent most of his waking hours below deck assessing the condition of the food stores, preserving meats, or preparing meals in general.

To my great surprise, Lyford wasn't the lecherous pervert that I thought had been trying to touch me inappropriately the first morning I awoke on the ship. He was actually quite an intelligent and perceptive man, with serious eyes but a well-natured smile. Though he offered me little verbal comfort, he treated me as an equal more than any other man on board the ship – with the exception of Rico, who had strangely said very little to me since helping me sand and swab the deck.

I learned a lot about the social hierarchy of the crew simply by watching how they spoke to each other. Rico was probably the least favoured on board the ship, partly because of his youth, and partly because of the crew's blatant disdain for the Spanish. Their bullying angered me, and at times I came close to speaking out in his defense – probably in the same way that Rico longed to defend me from the crew's sexist and vulgar remarks, but we both said nothing, and I didn't respect him any less for it. I hoped he felt the same way.

There were other men on board similar in age to myself, but they were far more outspoken and boisterous than Rico, and fit it well with the older members. Most of those men had the decency to ignore me, which I was very thankful for; however, a small group persisted in making my life a living hell, with their crude tongues and tactless banter. Their leader, Armas, who was usually responsible for instigating the mockery, was an incredibly daunting man; he was the largest person on board in terms of height, and his face was marred with a myriad of intersecting scars. His overall appearance was menacing – dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes and a darker smile. I stayed well away from him whenever I could.

And then there was the captain... possibly the most unsettling man of them all. Most referred to him as sir, though I heard some of the crew call him Edward - a very English name, which gave me some insight into where he was from.

His eyes always seemed to follow me around the ship. Regardless of where I was, or what I was doing, he was watching – whether from the corner of my vision, or in plain sight from the helm of the ship. It seemed that the captain's watchful eye did not deter the crew from harassing me – in fact, he often joined in on their laughter, which infuriated me to no end. Despite his boldness and cocky mannerisms, his authority over the crew was astounding. Even the ill-tempered and brutal Armas obeyed his words. When they weren't contending amongst each other for his appreciation, they were exchanging banter with him like age-old friends. Their respect for him was quite endearing, and though I loathed his arrogance, I could not discredit the charisma he displayed in being able to control such an unruly crew.

He didn't ask me to sleep in his bed again after the first night, which I was grateful for; nor did he offer for me to sleep in it in his place, but I understood that his selfishness was a result of his unpleasant lifestyle. I tried not to react whenever he made me feel worthless or insignificant. I didn't want him to know how much I detested the work he made me do, or how much I was missing my home and family. I didn't want him to think that he'd somehow won by making me miserable.

On the eighth day, I did not wake to the sound of silence, as was the norm on board the ship; I woke to the sound of singing.

_Haul on the bowline, before she start a-rolling,_

_Haul on the bowlin', the bowlin' haul!_

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, gazing around the darkened cabin in puzzlement. Edward wasn't in bed – I must have slept in later than usual. Odd – I normally wasn't permitted the extravagance of a morning's sleep-in.

_Haul on the bowline, the captain is a-growling,_

_Haul on the bowlin', the bowlin' haul!_

I lifted myself from my makeshift bed – a collection of pillows that the captain had permitted me to have – and straightened my shirt, which really needed to be washed. I padded quietly towards the window on the far side of the room and gazed outside curiously. The horizon was tainted a bland gre; clouds blotted the sky and concealed all remnants of blue.

_Haul on the bowline, so early in the morning,_

_Haul on the bowlin', the bowlin' haul!_

I approached the cabin door, the sound of the crew's singing becoming louder with each step, and I opened it, tentatively peeking outside. The morning was not as bright as it usually was, and a cool breeze chilled my face. The crew was spread evenly around the main deck, most of them shirtless and hoisting lines connected to the ship's rigging, while others appeared to be splicing rope together and coiling them around the bitts on the strongpost. I didn't really know what those words meant – Rico had mentioned them to me a few days ago, and it somehow seemed relevant now.

_Haul on the bowline, to Bristol we are going,_

_Haul on the bowlin', the bowlin' haul!_

I stepped outside, my bare feet skimming against the freshly polished deck, courtesy of my labour from the previous days. Seeing the Captain at the wheel of the ship, I ascended the steps to the quarterdeck, noting that his gaze was transfixed elsewhere in concentration. He was not wearing any of his armour, which was strange; his shirt rippled freely in the wind, unbuttoned to expose the tanned skin beneath, and his dark trousers hung loosely at his hips. He no longer looked formidable – he looked carefree.

Finally, his eyes hovered towards me as I approached.

"Good morning," he spoke unassumingly, the pleasant tone a bizarre contrast to his grave expression.

A subtle smile tilted my mouth in distaste at his wording. "Mornings are never _good._" I gazed back towards the crew, rather enjoying the gravelly sea shanty. I'd never heard such virile, unpretentious singing. "What's happening?"

"We're hoisting the top sails while the winds are in our favour." The way he spoke without taking his eyes off of me made me uncomfortable. Even without his weapons and armour, I knew he was still dangerous, and the predatory glint in his eyes still lingered within the sharp hue of his irises.

"Why not keep them raised permanently like the other sails?" I queried, and despite the way he scowled at my ignorance, his response was one of patience, like a parent indulging a child's curiosity.

"The top sails are only useful when the wind is strong enough, otherwise they'll just create drag on the ship."

I gazed up at the sails and the intricate network of rigging that upraised them – the erect beams of wood supporting the sails seemed sturdy enough, but tapered towards the peak. I frowned in thought.

"Can the sails break if the weather is too strong?" I looked back towards the captain. He seemed unfazed by my questioning.

"If the wind puts enough strain on the masts, then yes. It's happened before."

My frown deepened, trying to comprehend how such damage could be fixed, if at all. "Would we be stranded in the middle of the ocean?"

He didn't respond. His gaze was penetrating, and before I could open my mouth to speak again, he brushed past me and strode down the stairs. I huffed through my nostrils, unable to understand his sudden change in mood, and hesitated a moment before shadowing behind him. He entered his cabin, and I followed without question, uncaring for whether my presence was wanted or not.

He went straight for the liquor cabinet. What a surprise.

I closed the door and leaned my back against it, my gaze watchful but somewhat detached from whatever he was doing.

"Am I not entitled to my own privacy now?" he murmured without looking at me.

"No." The indifference in my voice was not aggressive, but pensive. "Not until you tell me why you're behaving so… standoffish."

He lifted the drink to his lips, saying nothing. I pursed my mouth, inwardly wondering if he was _ever_ sobre, the way he always seemed to be drinking. I didn't move, knowing that he would eventually speak. He never permitted me to have the final word in a conversation, however trivial.

"The change in wind forecasts very unfavourable weather – our provisions have vanished with the week, and our destination is taking longer to reach than I had assumed." The tension in his accent brought a smirk to my face. Hearing the concern coming from his lips made him seem more human, more _real _to me, rather than the dark and brooding captain whom reigned over the crew with an iron authority.

"This is hardly the time to be smiling." His tone was displeased, but his eyes were curious.

"Forgive me – I just find it ironic that you might not be the great captain you believe yourself to be." Surely he should have been prepared for instances like this?

He placed the empty cup on his desk, jaw tightened sternly in silent anger. It was true that my words had lacked a certain… decorum, but I was past the point of caring for what he would do to me. I was already being forced into labour with a crew of barbarous thugs who cared little for my wellbeing, and my dignity was a thing of the past. The only way I could salvage any semblance of pride was by being passive-aggressive.

He wasn't amused by my joke. Perhaps my bitterness was too convincing.

"This ship is as much a part of me as are my hands and heart. If any strife would befall the Jackdaw, whether by God's hand or by the mistake of my own, I would not forgive myself."

My smile faded with his words. His concern seemed genuine – he truly cared for the wellbeing of those awful men and this godforsaken ship. I almost apologised for my snide remark, but caught myself before my empathy got the better of me.

I tried changing the course of the conversation without actually changing the topic. "Why is this ship called the Jackdaw?"

His dark eyes peered at me, an amused look of scrutiny on his face. "It's a bird that thieves objects of worth – coins, jewelry and the like – and hoards it in its nest. I suppose you could say my vocation is similar."

I nodded, understanding the relation – even if it seemed a little odd. As he paced towards his bed to pick up his armour that had been strewed across the floor, I stepped closer, noticing a number of objects arranged on his desk… A handful of coins, an emerald necklace, a pistol with gold inlaid into the handle, and a porcelain jeweler's box. I picked up the latter, examining the pale blue gems encrusted onto the lid.

"Where did you get all of this?" I gazed towards him, watching him buckle the straps of his bracers with deft, skilled fingers.

"It was inside a strongbox from Captain Jennings' cabin. It's the only chest we've been able to open – there's still a dozen below deck with foreign locks that can't be picked."

That other captain must have raided my belongings on board when he captured me.

"This is mine..." My fingers traced under the clasp of the box's lid, opening it slowly to reveal the familiar necklace enclosed within.

"Not any more." Edward's smug voice was complemented by his smug, filthy grin. I glared at him briefly, noticing that he had already dressed himself, guns and all, before picking up the necklace. The delicate chain passed over my fingers like a fine, golden twine.

"This was a wedding gift – it's mine." I lifted the necklace up, appreciating the simple, fleur-de-lis pendant.

"You are married?" The surprise in his voice made me frown.

"Of course," I replied indignantly, placing the necklace back into the porcelain box. His attention was certainly piqued – the interest alight in his eyes was a tad disconcerting.

"Do you love him?"

I scoffed wordlessly, aiming a stern scowl in his direction. He gazed back impassively. Finally, I spoke, disbelief heavy in my voice at his shameless question. "That is _none_ of your concern."

"That is not an answer."

I growled under my breath, hand clenched around the necklace. "I have a duty to my mother and family to honour my husband, regardless of personal sentiment. I am fulfilled in my marriage – perhaps if you were wedded you would understand the responsibility of such things."

His grin widened, as though my words were some inward joke I was not privy to. "When I was younger, I married a woman." He approached his desk and sat down in the armchair, bottle of liquor in hand. I recognized the brandy from its pungent smell. "Caroline."

I lifted my brows skeptically. "And did you love her?" I returned the question at him, curious as to how he would answer.

"Very much. She was lovely, by all accounts, but I was too young for her – both in mind and need. We wanted different things… Caroline needed stability and a dependable man, which I could not be."

The seriousness in my eyes softened, and unable to stop myself, I delved to know more. "And what did you need?"

I looked up at him just as an idle smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "My own life - excitement, money, perhaps even chaos. She left me, and in doing so, gave me the opportunity to make better of life."

I averted my gaze, unsure as to what I could say. I wanted to disagree with him – to tell him that his life and profession was not a noble one, that he should have made the effort to be who Caroline wanted him to be, but somehow the words would not arrive on my tongue. I was speechless.

"So, to answer your needlessly harsh statement about my ignorance of marriage and responsibility, you are right. I don't understand. Marriage should not be a duty; it is a declaration of commitment to what you want from life... So I ask, what do _you_ want?"

I said nothing – not because I didn't want him to know, but because I didn't even know myself. I had never been taught to see myself as a woman with the liberty of choices or passing fancy. My life was one of luxury and ease, but it was not a life of freedom, and whenever I rebelled against that notion, more freedom was removed from me, courtesy of my mother.

I looked down because I could not look him in the eye. I felt a sense of shame in having no personal direction, when even the brutal pirate sitting before me had ambitions and dreams.

"What? You want nothing from life?" His insistence was beginning to bother me, but he continued before I could think of the words to make him stop. "You nobles are so privileged it's pathetic."

"Shut up!" I snapped, turning to look him directly in his the face. "You question my life as though you have the right to ridicule it. Why - because _you_ were born in poverty? We do not choose the family we are born into, so don't you dare look down on me for being 'privileged' when every aspect of my life was dictated for me. You are far more privileged than I ever could be." I huffed as I ran out of air, the words flooding to my mouth after spending so long in silence. After regaining my breath, I continued. "The only difference between you and I, captain, the _only_ difference is that you have the freedom to not only _choose_ what you want from life, but the means to actually achieve it all. I have neither."

He watched me with a hardened expression, letting me speak without interruption. When I fell silent, he continued to search my face as though not entirely satisfied with what I had said… as though there were more trapped inside. I held his gaze for as long as I could before looking down, feeling suddenly weakened by his scrutiny.

When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. "It seems that you hold much bitterness for your way of life. I understand that."

I let out a heavy breath, releasing a great deal of tension from my shoulders. "How could you possibly understand…"

"Because I hear more than just the words that you speak. I hear the anger towards your father for parting with you so early in life, leaving only pressure on you to marry and uphold your family's name."

I blinked, unsure of how he had interpreted such a ridiculous meaning from what I'd said. My fingers began to tremble, and I clenched them into fists to hide it.

"I hear the resentment in your voice towards your mother, who married you off at the first opportunity she had, despite it being against your will."

I inhaled unsteadily, the trembling spread to my lungs as I closed my eyes. That wasn't true – I'd had two other marriage proposals and my mother had rejected them both… without even consulting them with me. It had seemed so natural at the time to allow her so much authority over my life, but now it seemed… hurtful. My heart mattered little to her, and that was the reality that I had been ignoring for my entire life.

"I hear despair when you speak of family. Your duty to them imprisons you."

I shook my head, overwhelmed by the accuracy of what he was saying, but not wanting to believe it, almost as though if I did not acknowledge him it would not be real. I wanted him to stop.

"And I can see from your face that my words are true."

I released a shaking breath as a tear began to emerge at the corner of my eye, but I wiped it away before it had the chance to fall melodramatically down my cheek. I had no idea why his words had cut so deep. I cleared my throat, which had been lodged with some unknown sense of helplessness at his insights.

"It must be so wonderful to pick apart someone's life and show them all of its flaws and failures. Did you ever think that I had coped throughout my entire life by pretending I was okay with it all?" My words seethed anger towards him, but I knew the anger was displaced. My bitterness was not for him. "If even for a moment I entertained an aspiration for dreams and wishes, I would have fallen apart, knowing that it would never come to be. My life is what it is – there is no point in longing for childish fantasies."

"Then why did you want me to take you home? You could have left it all behind and started anew-"

"No, I could not," I interrupted him, and he allowed me to speak. "I cannot simply abandon my life because it doesn't suit. I am not a weak person, despite everything…"

He didn't dispute what I'd said, even though I knew he wanted to. He didn't know who I was, so there was no way he would understand my words. His long fingers traced the sides of his glass, half-filled with brandy, before he pushed the cup closer to me, eyeing me with a knowing expression. I understood the gesture, but hesitated before accepting the offered kindness. I drank without smelling it first, knowing that the strong stench would put me off – the taste was dire, but I swallowed it without complaint.

His satisfied grin made a small, reluctant smile appear on my lips.

His voice was more placid now. "I suppose you feel the same way about your family as I do with the Jackdaw. It is a responsibility and, at times, a burden – but I could never abandon her. I respect that."

I shrugged my shoulders lightly, my smile fading. "Whether I want to go home matters little now. You said yourself I am not worth changing the ship's course."

He raised his brows in consideration. "That… was not entirely the reason."

I frowned in confusion. "Then what is?"

He shook his head, standing up from his chair to walk past me. "Come, let me show you."

He headed out the cabin door before I could respond. I followed a moment later, immediately feeling the strong wind messily whipping at my hair as I stepped outside. The breeze felt surprisingly cold against my bare arms; the captain was right – the weather was getting worse.

I continued walking, my pace cautious as I felt the crew watching me. It seemed they had finished with the sails and were now continuing with other duties. The ship certainly felt like it was moving faster through the choppy tide.

Edward stopped in the middle of the main deck and ushered me to come closer. I approached, unsure of what he was intending to do, before his hand reached up to grip my shoulder and turn me around. I followed the motion without question, too confused to do anything else. His chest touched my back as he brought a finger below my chin, tilting my head upwards.

"Look. What do you see."

I blinked. My mouth opened to speak, but I closed it a moment later, having no clue what I was meant to be looking for.

"What do you see," he murmured again, his tone deeper.

"Sky… Clouds?" I mused aloud, my voice uncertain as I felt his fingers trace idly over my throat. Goosebumps quivered along my neck, both from the cold breeze as well the lightness of his touch. I swallowed, and the sensation caused his fingers to linger in interest.

"What else."

"Sails… ropes… a flag…"

"Yes. That flag is the reason I cannot take you home."

I gazed up at the dark, tattered flag – I could recognize the shape of a white skull, surrounded by a symbol I'd never seen before. I frowned in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

"It represents who we are. That flag is the colour of a jackdaw's feathers. The skull symbolizes piracy – it is recognised in almost every country. If I were to take you home, my entire crew and I would be hanged, regardless of saving you."

I'd heard of public hangings happening near where I lived, but I hadn't the stomach to watch the spectacle like the commoners. My life had been very sheltered – watching someone die would be the most unbearable thing. I hoped I would never have to witness it – ever.

I turned my eyes to the floor without uttering a word, understanding why the captain refused to take me home. I hated sympathising with him – it felt so wrong, considering that I was being held on this ship more or less against my will.

"Why can you not remove the flag – you would seem like any other merchant ship, then."

"That is exactly the reason we keep it up there. It stops other pirates from mistakenly attacking us, and more often than not, allows us to raid other ships without conflict. One glimpse of that flag and their arses are soiled."

I smiled at his wording, but concealed it quickly.

"Anyway, that's enough natter for one day. Help the rest of the crew drain the bilge – we'll need it emptied for the rough tide tonight."

I stared at him blankly. I had no idea what a 'bilge' was – and from the grin on his face, he must have known that.

He left me standing there feeling awkwardly out of place. I swore under my breath, completely oblivious as to what I was supposed to be doing. My eyes darted around the crew, trying to find a friendly face – Rico soon appeared from below deck, and immediately I made my way toward him, trying not to make eye contact with any of the other men.

I explained my confusion to him, and he managed to clarify everything straightforwardly - it made me wonder why the captain couldn't have just done the same. He obviously enjoyed throwing out of my comfort zone. _Bastard._

I learned that the bilge was a compartment below the waterline, underneath the lower deck – it allowed any water from the main deck to drain down the sides of the ship and collect in a reservoir. Rico explained that when the bilge became too full it weighed the ship down, and potentially could cause it to sink – a thought that terrified me more than anything. The process of emptying the bilge was fairly basic – buckets were used to remove the bilge water, which could then be thrown overboard. Despite its simplicity, the process would take the crew and myself almost the entire day to complete.

Once Rico showed me what to do, I realised just how slow the process was, and how much water the bilge could hold. The job was long and tedious – no one spoke to me, except to mutter crude slurs behind my back, but I was accustomed to the insults by now. I had abandoned my desire to know why they despised me, and instead accepted it and moved on with my chores. They weren't worth my time.

When the bilge was finally near empty, I emerged on the main deck with two filled buckets in hand. Though they were relatively light, my shoulders ached from the day's long toil, and every bucket only seemed to weigh my arms down further. I huffed in exasperation, feeling hot sweat dripping into my eyelashes despite the freezing wind. The sea was much rougher now, and the sun was no longer visible through the dark clouds, but I was almost certain that night would soon fall.

I carried the buckets toward the side of the ship, ignoring the voices of the men behind me – no more than a moment later, a heavy boot interjected my stride, and I fell to my knees with a graceless _thump_. The buckets clashed with the deck, spilling water in all directions. I winced in pain, my hands and knees sore from the impact, but what truly hurt my pride was the raucous upheaval of laughter that followed my fall.

Damp hair fell across my face as I scowled, drawing in a calming breath as I gazed upward at whoever had tripped me. Armas stood over me with a beastly grin contorting his scarred face, and a few of the crewmen were behind guffawing and calling out harsh taunts.

"_Stupid wench!_"

"_Fell down like a sack o' shit, well done swee'art!" _

My jaw clenched as I ignored them, straining my arms to push myself up, but Armas held his shoe against my back and forced me down. "Oh dear – what 'appened, love?"

I didn't struggle, not wanting to give him the joy of hearing me whimper or moan in pain. "I must have lost my footing, sir." I kept my voice impassive, gritting my teeth as I tried to push myself up, but he was far heavier than I was. I heard him snigger venomously.

"Wha's the matter? Can't get up?"

I exhaled as my ribs strained under the weight of him. "It would seem… that your foot is on my back… sir."

He snorted, taking his weight off of me, having not received the reaction he'd hoped for. I sighed in relief. "Lookit this bloody mess! Can't send a lady to do a man's job."

I lifted myself up, calmly brushing the grime from my shirt. I looked at him without expression – the effort that it took to remain quiet was agonizing.

"A friggin' woman don't belong on a ship."

I looked down at both scattered buckets, lips shaking from my struggle to ignore him. "Then why are you here," I muttered under my breath, averting my gaze as I gathered the buckets unhurriedly.

"Excuseme?"

I laughed out loud at his superior tone, finally unable to stop myself from ranting at his appalling behaviour. "In the entire week that I've been here, I haven't heard a single person whine and bitch as much as you do – you're worse than the women you always complain about!"

His dark eyes narrowed in anger. "I should smack you 'cross that big mouth of yours for sayin' that."

"Go ahead – I'm not afraid of you."

"You bloody should be." We both glared at each other fiercely; of course, his stare was far more foreboding, considering he stood over a foot taller, and was twice my width. Neither of us budged, daring the other to make a move – to blink, to breathe, anything. I knew that an arsenal of weapons gleamed dangerously from his waist and chest, but for some strange reason, I knew he would not harm me.

"Armas. Elisabeth." A familiar, imposing voice broke the silence between us. Immediately, I understood the reason that refrained Armas from attacking me – the captain's word was my only safeguard on board this ship. It made me untouchable, even to Armas, who seemed the type of man that lacked morals and modesty in equal measure. I turned my attention to Edward, who was watching with displeasure written blatantly across his face – his fierce stare was aimed at my provoker, thankfully, but I somehow caught the impression that the captain was unimpressed by my performance as well.

"Armas, you're needed below deck to secure the cargo. Now." The captain watched sternly as the other man spat upon the ground, shrugging his shoulders as he walked away. I visibly relaxed when his presence was gone, but noticed that Edward's dissatisfied glare had turned to me instead. I blinked, noticing that the rest of the crew had vanished as well, not wanting to be caught amid the captain's line of fire. I spoke out before the captain could reprimand me.

"I-I'm sorry for making a scene. It will not-"

"I saw what happened, Elisabeth. He torments you every day and you simply do nothing."

I opened my mouth to speak, to defend myself, before actually comprehending what he had said. He wasn't angry with me for _almost_ starting a fight – he was angry that I hadn't started _enough_ of a fight. I shook my head and lowered my gaze, baffled at the idea.

"You need to stand up to my men. They will not show you respect unless you show it to yourself."

"But… but Armas would easily kill me if I were to fight back properly!"

He shook his head at my exclamation, folding his arms over his chest. "He wouldn't dare hurt you beyond what he already has, I made that clear to all of my men - the rest is up to you. I will not fight every petty battle for you."

"I-I never asked you to." I stuttered, feeling somewhat annoyed by his patronising tone. Rain began to fall from the darkened clouds above, epitomising my mood seamlessly. The sky was duskier now, due to the setting sun as well as the dense rain clouds heavy on the horizon.

"Sir – the winds blow stronger from the East," I turned in time to see Lyford approaching the captain, forehead gleaming with what could have either been sweat or rain.

"What is your point?" The Captain's voice was concise and demanding.

"The further we approach this storm, the worse the gale will become. I would advise you to lower the sails while we still have enough light to do so."

I looked up at the two masts of the main deck – the canvas of the sails flapped wildly in the squall, their wooden peaks yielding precariously against the onslaught of wind. I dared not think of what would happen if they were to break – there would be no hope of surviving if we were to be stranded amidst a thunderstorm without the means to voyage through it.

"No." The captain's final word brought alarm to my eyes.

"B-but sir… the sails will not be able to handle winds stronger than this, they're groaning as it is!" The heavier man's insistence only made my concern worse.

"I do not have the luxury of playing it safe while our supplies are nil. We need to get to shore as soon as possible, and if that means leaving the sails up, then that is a risk worth taking, Lyford." The captain waved his hand in finality and brushed past both of us, clearly incensed by the other man's lack of faith in him.

"You're bloody mad," Lyford growled darkly, before turning to retreat back to the lower deck. I stood in silence, torn as to whom I should follow; I let the buckets drop to the floor hastily, approaching the captain's cabin and opening the door without pausing to knock.

"If you've come to tell me I am wrong, then save your breath." I closed the door behind me, feeling somewhat deterred by the captain's acidic tone. "I'll not be undermined by the likes of you."

I said nothing, ignoring the veiled insult, and watched him pace to the opposite end of the room, a hefty chest held in his arms. He positioned it along with a bounteous number of other identical chests. I recognised them immediately as my eyes widened a fraction, but I remained silent.

"What are you doing?" I ask pleasantly, trying to soften the tense atmosphere between us. The captain appeared stressed, and for good reason – he was putting much of his faith in the luck of God, especially if the storm would be as bad as they were all anticipating. They would not have made such preparations if they expected the weather to be manageable.

"The chests will be safer up here – below deck will get waterlogged very quickly when we approach the storm." His voice was impatient, and it didn't suit him. He looked up at me, and the sternness in his eyes changed to something much softer. My stomach swelled warmly at the reassurance, albeit a foreign and sickly sensation. I exhaled, my head suddenly feeling dizzy.

"What's wrong - your face is as white as a sheet…" he murmured curiously, but his voice was without ridicule. I sighed a shaky breath, my stomach sinking as the weight of the ship lurched against the uneven tide.

"I f-feel sick," I muttered, passing a hand over the soft padding of my stomach.

"You're seasick. It's normal." He approached me, placing a hand firmly on my back and moving me towards his bed. This time, I resisted his force, and stayed rooted to the spot. He exhaled in irritation. "You'll feel better if you lay down on your side."

"No," I protested weakly, pushing his arm away. "I feel sick because… because I'm scared."

"You have no reason to be," he rationalized, but the way he disregarded my growing fear only made my panic rise.

"What if the masts break, like Lyford said? What if the ship sinks?! What if-"

"Hey, _hey. _Calm down." He gripped my arm forcefully, making me look up at him. A subtle, unfathomable grin appeared faintly at the edges of his mouth. "What's the worse that can happen? You can swim, right." His tone was clearly amused – he was making fun of me. He was _actually_ making fun of me, now of all times.

"Don't mock me, Edward," I scowled, pushing away from him.

He watched me with an entertained expression, but my stark silence caused the complacent smirk to disappear, replaced instead by uncertainty. "You _can_ swim, can't you?"

I looked down without giving a reaction to his incredulity – an answer in itself.

"Christ… how are you _not_ able to swim, Elisabeth?"

"Obviously it isn't a requirement for my lifestyle – I barely ever saw the water, let alone spent time on a ship surrounded by it."

He ran a hand through his light hair, speechless.

A loud crack of thunder shattered the wall of silence between us, and the flash that illuminated the room seconds later was both astounding and terrifying.

"_Shit!_" Edward's harsh cuss wrought fear in the pit of my stomach, and the ship rumbled unsteadily as the sea rammed suddenly against its keel. The deck rocked tremulously beneath my bare feet, and I staggered forward, my hands clambering for balance against the heavy desk in front of me.

_Get the captain! Get him, now!_

A voice shouted urgently from outside of the cabin – the door was wrenched open, and a drenched figure appeared in the doorway. "_Sir!_ The hull's split! It's pissin' below deck - hurry!" The man's voice was a flurry of distress and panic. I froze at his words.

"Go – I'll be there soon." Edward's voice was bold but calm – how on _earth_ could he stay calm at such horrific news!

"Elisabeth." I heard him say my name, but I couldn't move. My hands formed tight claws against the desk' side, my knuckles whitened by my fierce grip. I tried to speak – my voice came out as a weak exhale as the fear escalated inside me. I tried to concentrate on what was happening but my thoughts and panic overwhelmed me.

_The ship is sinking. _

_I 'll not be saved this time._

_I will drown. _

"Elisabeth – let go of the desk." I heard his calm voice breathe some sense of composure back into my rigid body. I felt his strong hands pry my fingers from the wood, his skin feeling hot against mine, and I turned my vacant gaze towards him. I had so many thoughts, but no words.

"It's okay, it's fine. The hull can be fixed." I knew his words were meant to reassure me, but I was too bewildered by the piercing sound of thunder and rain and crashing sea to listen to reason. The ocean seemed like some ceaseless beast roaring in torment at the storm – it could swallow our ship whole and there was no escape from it.

"Find somewhere safe and _don't move_ – I'll be back soon." His voice lingered with me minutes after he had vanished from my side. I sobbed out of anger more than pity, and sank against the floor, my hands clutching the sturdy leg of the desk uneasily. No light filtered through the small windows of the cabin – I was bathed in darkness, much like when I was first captured. I shivered at the familiarity of my dread. Rainwater seeped from beneath the door and spread along the floor towards me; the water moved with the swinging motions of the ship and swilled against my legs, the freezing sensation heightening my fear.

All I could envision was seawater spilling into the lower deck of the ship, pulling us further and further beneath the swell. The storm battered unrelentingly against the ship, the wood creaking against the indistinguishable force, and I imagined the sails flailing violently in the storm, the weak masts snapping under the power of the wind.

I had to do something. I couldn't think properly, knowing that at any moment, the masts could come crashing down upon the deck – our only hope of escaping the storm collapsing with it. I didn't trust the captain's word, and I certainly didn't trust him with my life.

I just… had to. _What_ I had to do exactly, I didn't know, but I knew I had to do something. Anything was better than sitting in the dark waiting to drown.

I lifted myself up, using the table as support, and hurried across the pitch-black room towards the door. The wind forced it to open with little aid from my hand, and the sight of the storm was…

…Breathtaking.

The night sky was obscured by heavy clouds; thunder roared interminably from above, illuminating the blackened sea and colossal waves. The bright lightning glimmered amidst the opaque clouds, like white-hot veins burning streaks across the dark heavens.

None of the crew were on deck – they must all have been below, trying to mend whatever had damaged the underside. The ship was tossed riotously in the swell – I was barely able to run out and grab ahold of the side railing as the ship's bow collided with an oncoming surge of water, tipping the vessel upwards before it sank down against the falling tide. My insides heaved upwards at the steep fall, but I hoisted my self along the side of the ship, getting closer and closer to the flapping mast that threatened to break under the strenuous wind.

The storm filled the air around me with deafening force – I could hear everything at once, yet could hear nothing over the earsplitting wind and blinding rain. The ship lurched erratically on its side, and my footing was lost on the slippery decking; I held onto the railing for dear life, and when the ship regained balance, my hands found the rope that were securing the masts. If I untied the rope, the sails would lose their tension, and loosen in the wind. My fingers fumbled over the drenched rigging, the knots rigid and tightened with water, and no matter how I tried to loosen them, they were unmoving. I needed a knife or – or _something_ to sever the lines!

A dark shape moved behind me, and before I had even a moment to react, a rough hand pulled me back from the rigging. A dark face appeared in my vision before the ship collided with another wave, and I fell hard against the deck. Gasping for breath, my fingers clutched the slippery floor for grip, before a heavy hand grabbed my hair and pulled me up. I groaned in pain, clawing at the fist entwined into my hair, before Armas' face appeared in front of me.

"You got some nerve, wench," his hot breath seethed in my face. I could barely hear him over the roar of the thunderstorm.

"Let go of me!" I struggled in his grip, drumming my fists against his solid chest in panic, before he finally let me drop to the floor.

"What the _hell_ were you doin'!"

"We need to cut the rope! The mast is going break!" I clambered against the side of the ship, lifting myself onto my feet.

"The captain gave orders-"

"The captain is _wrong!_" I yelled, and in a moment of madness, I snatched the dagger from the man's belt and shoved past him. I hacked the knife against the taut rope and the line snapped almost immediately; the loud crack that followed was nearly as piercing as the thunder itself, and the sail slackened and billowed freely in the wind.

"Oi!"

Before I could make a beeline to the next mast, Armas' strong hand gripped my wrist and pulled me back, causing me to drop the knife against the floor with a clatter.

"This shit that you're pullin' stops _now_," he bellowed in my ear, my struggling only seeming to infuriate him more. "Y'stupid bitches are all same – belong in the god damn water, the lot of ya."

"How dare you!" I wrenched my arm away from him, standing back to glare at him through the fierce wind and rain. "How _dare_ you speak to me like that!"

"Shut the hell up!" His fist clenched as though preparing to strike, but he refrained. Thunder rolled heavily above - my skin was illuminated by the lightning, slick with spray from the sea, and I could see the shivering spread from my arms to my fingers. I glared fiercely at the huge man standing before me, and he glared back with equal resentment.

He sneered spitefully. "You think you mean _shit_ to anyone here? If it were up to me I woulda let you die in that ship like a drowned rat!"

"Stop it!" My hands shook both in anger and from the cold, and it took every ounce of willpower inside me to stop myself from striking him across the face.

"The captain don't give a shit about you neither… You're just a tight little cunt he can root."

My hands stopped shaking. His grin was overbearing, and my resentment superseded all other sense of reason. My fingers clenched into a fist, all of my anger was channeled into my arm… and in one impressive lunge, I landed a punch squarely between his legs.

The expression on his face was almost worth the terror that followed.

He groaned suddenly as he grasped his crotch, a wheeze of pain hissing through his teeth.

The agony in his eyes quickly became deadly rage. As I turned to run, he grabbed my leg and pulled me down; with nothing to hold onto, I fell to the floor, and moments later felt his boot collide forcefully against my side. Winded by the impact, my mouth fell open breathlessly, unable to take in air. He wrenched my head up, straining my neck, and I closed my eyes in fear as I felt his coarse lips graze me cheek.

"Big mistake, ya stupid bitch."

He yanked me by the arm and hoisted me over his shoulder – I shrieked as I regained my voice and writhed hysterically in his arms, but his grip was far too strong for me to break free.

"An' where do stupid bitches belong?" he chuckled darkly, walking towards the side of the ship – his footing slipped as the boat veered in the violent swell, almost dropping me, but he reclaimed his balance a second later and continued towards the railing. His voice roared over the sound of the storm.

"In the god damn water!"

"No, wait! Stop – _stop!_" My voice screamed in panic, struggling against his grasp, but he paid no heed to my distraught pleas, and tossed my weight over the side of the ship without a moment of faltering.

I cried out in horror as my stomach lurched into my throat, the fall seeming endless – I plummeted into the freezing ocean, and my scream continued as I submerged. My voice was stifled by the blackened water, but my distress only became heightened as fear flooded my veins. I somehow managed to surface, spluttering and gulping at the air in a daze, before an enormous wave crashed over me and tossed me under the water.

Everything was dark and soundless, and my arms failed uselessly in the current as my hands clawed for the surface. My eyes burned as seawater seeped through my clenched eyelids, flooding into my nostrils as I tumbled fitfully against the crashing tide. I desperately needed to breathe. I had no direction – I had no idea what was up, or what was down, or how deep I was. The swell moved so fast that I had no bearing. I couldn't think, I could only feel – feel the panic overflowing from my straining lungs, the desperation as my legs kicked helplessly against the water, and the freezing sea that was rapidly numbing my skin and stiffening my limbs.

As the tide began to feel still, I felt the sensation that I was sinking, no longer at the surface and no longer being tossed by the force of the waves. The more I moved the faster I sank, and my yearning for air drove me beyond the point of despair. My arms drifted above my head, fingers outspread in a final attempt to reach for the surface – my mouth opened to whimper breathlessly, releasing a final slur of bubbles, before a choking sensation wracked my body. I could feel nothing.

The darkness became darker, and I was lost to its depths.

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry, I had to re-upload this chapter like 3 times because I screwed the formatting up haha!**

**Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter (Nightshade07, The Great Wicked, AnimeFreakzoid911, Gast, Heartkillerlive181, Ana, ElKookoi, Farreneh, Shola Olivia, Vampiratess & Anonymous) for your love and support!**

**This chapter has actually been cut in half so I could put it up earlier for StoryReader1996 (she messaged me saying she won't have internet for the next week) but I have a terrible feeling that I'm a bit late. I'm so so sorry! I hope you'll forgive me hehe.**

**As always, enjoy. ^^**

* * *

"Find somewhere safe and _don't move_ – I'll be back soon."

Edward left Elisabeth alone in the cabin without offering her any further comfort – the undulating motions of the ship and the heavy rain barely deterring his calm stride as he made his way towards the opening of the lower deck. The hold was dark, scarcely lit by the few lanterns hanging from the ceiling, but the shape of rushing bodies was unmistakable. The crew clambered over one another trying to clear the lower deck of water, buckets in hand and vulgarities being called out in rash abandon.

"Alright, alright," the captain pushed past one of the men, assessing the depth of water as he stepped down from the stairs. "Where's the damage?"

"Over here, sir!" Lyford's voice called over the commotion, near the ship's bow, and the captain approached without a moment of lingering. "The keel's given way – not sure how long the Jack's gonna hold."

"A rogue wave must've broke the wooden shores…" Edward pushed down one of the ruptured planks. "Hayes, get me the spare sail; Lyford, find the hooked bolts and a hammer."

"Captain-"

"_What."_ Edward's fierce expression narrowed upon Armas. The affronted man gazed back sharply.

"Should I keep movin' the cargo above deck, sir?"

"There's no time - grab a bucket and start bailing the water overboard!"

Armas simply nodded and followed his order without question, despite the begrudging expression that he concealed.

The following minutes were a rush of commands and bustling crewmen; seawater gushed from the ship's open wound and continued to flood into the lower deck. Edward covered the ruptured wood with the tarpaulin sail and fastened it down with bolts, but water continued to seep through from the edges.

"Someone get me a dozen cleats of wood," he leaned back on his heels, wiping the salt from his sweltering brow.

"Uh… captain?" One of the younger men approached, his expression somewhat conflicted.

"Stuart."

"There's a… a bit o' commotion on deck."

Edward sighed, lifting himself to his feet. "I've not got time for this, Stuart."

"It's Armas and that woman, sir."

Interest flickered briefly in the captain's eyes, but his concern was short-lived. "Let them sort it out."

"But she's cut the rigging."

The captain stood still, realisation soon coming to light his baffled expression. "Excuse me?"

"The line – she's cut the line on the first mast. The sail's dead."

"For Christ's sake," Edward sighed in exasperation, giving the hammer to the younger man. "Bolt this canvas down with wood, I'll handle Elisabeth."

"Aye, sir."

Edward stepped past Stuart, treading through the water towards the open companionway that led to the main deck. Rain cascaded down his already drenched clothes as he emerged on deck, eyes looking up to the sails in inspection. Stuart was right – one of the masts shuddered uselessly in the wind, the sails flapping like wet bed sheets from the detached rigging. The captain sighed heavily, glaring from one side of the deck to the other in search of Elisabeth.

The heavy rain and blinding wind maimed his sight, and it was only when the lightning illuminated the deck that he saw the contending pair – moments too late. Armas had already hoisted the woman over the side of the ship, her fair body descending into the water and disappearing from sight.

The captain stood in silence, momentarily stunned by the assault, before he suddenly reeled into action.

Edward sprinted towards the side of the ship, not even having the time to unfasten his armour or drop his weapons to the deck. In one fluid, seamless motion he leapt upon the side railing and launched himself overboard, arms arching forward to prepare himself for the freezing plunge.

He dove into the water and descended into the black, rolling waves. He opened his eyes, despite the fiercely burning seawater, and spread his arms, blindly searching for her – a hand, a touch, anything. Feeling nothing but heavy water rushing against his limbs, he swam back to the surface to draw in a long, steady breath. His clothes and leather armour weighed him down, having not been accustomed to swimming with so many layers on. He dove underwater seconds before a vast wave crashed over him, and he opened his eyes in immense concentration.

The deathly black ocean became a shimmering veil of dark, unnatural blue, his eagle vision allowing him to perceive the depths below with endless clarity. A small blur of gold emerged beneath him, the iridescent glow signifying Elisabeth's position. He swam against the current, but the sheer weight of him pulled him deeper towards her. The golden shape appeared completely still and weightless, her arms outspread and limp. She seemed lifeless, afloat in the water as though trapped by its infinite depth. The faster he swam, the further she sank, lost from his grasp. His strong arms waded through the freezing water and his legs kicked him onward, unrelenting and unyielding.

His eagle vision gave little perception of how deep he was – he only knew how far away Elisabeth was from him, her bright, glowing shape becoming clearer as he lessened the distance between them. She shone like a beacon, nearly within reach. His fingers finally grazed against her icy skin, and his grip latched onto something secure. He pulled her closer against his chest, her hair spreading unpleasantly in his face as he started the longer and more arduous task of reaching the surface.

He not only had to battle with the weight of his clothes and the limited movement they allowed, but he also had to battle with his lungs and the little amount of air that remained.

His grip tightened against Elisabeth, his grasp almost weakening in his mounting desire to breathe. Rescuing her for the second now made it seem more worthwhile, and that his intentions to keep her alive actually held resolute purpose. She believed that she was merely a plaything to amuse the crew – to an extent, she fulfilled that role perfectly, but had it been true, he would have simply let her drown this time. He saw some semblance of worth in her – not because of personal sentiment, but because he knew she existed to serve a higher cause, one that he had yet uncovered.

He continued to swim upwards, the muscles in his legs beginning to burn with exertion as he approached the surface – closer, and closer, until finally, his face breached the night air and his lungs recoiled from the immense gasp of breath that followed. He drank in the air as though it was sweeter than any aged wine, and more fulfilling that even the deepest huff of tobacco.

The rough tide submerged them both, but he managed to surface again and call out to the crew, who were simply looking on in both awe and disbelief. Elisabeth's head rested lifelessly against his shoulder, still unmoving; he tried to see if she was breathing, but her face was continually immersed in the breaking tide. A rope ladder was flung over the side of the ship, and immediately Edward began to swim against the force of the tide; as the surf rose up, he somehow managed to keep them both afloat, and when the wave crashed down, he strained to stop them from being thrown under the surface.

As he grasped the ladder with his free hand, relief surged through him like a blissful respite. He hoisted himself above the tide, suddenly aware of how heavy everything was – in the water his clothes had felt much lighter, and Elisabeth had seemed weightless, yet now, her dead weight hung against him like an anvil. His arms weakened under the pressure, but he persisted in climbing the ladder one rung at a time, his other arm supporting the woman against him.

When he finally reached the ship's railing, he passed the unconscious Elisabeth to one of the crew and lifted himself onto the deck. Every part of him was drenched, save for his dry throat and lungs, which ached from being parched of breath.

Lyford laid the woman upon the deck, gently handling her wrist in examination. "Her pulse is nearly gone, Edward. She's not breathing."

"Resuscitate her – do something!" he ordered, kneeling down beside her to wipe the matted hair from her face.

"She's inhaled too much water, she-"

"For God's sake Lyford, get out the way," Edward shoved the larger man aside and leaned over the girl, crossing his hands firmly over her abdomen and between her breasts. Heavy rain beat down against his back, and the ship continued to veer erratically in the swell, but his grit was steadfast and his mind allowed no distraction. He pushed down hard, feeling little resistance from her sunken lungs, and then released, counting the motions in his head as he repeated it again.

_One – two – three – four – five._

Elisabeth showed no signs of moving. Her head hung limp against the deck, her lips a pale blue in the scant light. The captain pressed against her harder, forcing more of his weight into each compression; he panted for breath, his body rife with exhaustion, but not for a single moment did he falter.

_One – two – three – four – five._

Still nothing. His movements were faster now, accelerated by his urgency and perseverance.

"No… no…" he gasped between his breaths, his arms wearying under the stress of his weight. He pressed down harder with each exhale, driving the last of his energy into his palms.

_One! Two! Three! Four! Five!_

My eyes shot open. Salty water suddenly spilled from my lips and onto the deck – my throat wrenched at the unpleasant feeling and I felt nothing but disorientation at my surroundings. A broad figured hovered above me, rain distorted my vision, and the icy air bore straight to my shivering bones. I convulsed onto my side as another stream of water spewed from my gaped mouth, coughing breathlessly as I regained myself. The cold was so painful against my body – every part of me was wet and freezing and _awful._

"You stupid woman…" the familiar voice of the captain was fatigued and weary. I wrapped my arms across my trembling stomach, unable to form words.

"Where is he…" Edward's voice became deathly serious as he regained his breath. I almost shuddered at the chilling tone of voice. "Armas – _where is he!_"

A dark figure came into view. "Sir, I can explain-"

"No - there is _nothing_ that excuses you from this," Edward stood fiercely and approached him, staring at the colossal man with terrifying conviction.

"That blasted woman hit me in the sack, she deserved what she got!"

The captain's jaw clenched – the only visible warning of his snapped temper, before his fist swung out with flawless accuracy to punch him straight in the face. Armas fell back immediately, the force of the captain's assault dropping him to the floor.

Silence fell over the crew.

Armas clutched his nose, blood pouring from both nostrils. His dark eyes were wide with an emotion I couldn't describe. He looked angry, but fearful; shocked, but accepting. When his eyes moved to me, I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. I felt too physically drained to conjure a glare of my own.

With nothing else to be said, the captain turned away from the injured man sprawled pitifully on the deck, and looked towards me, his face as menacing as thunder.

"Get up." I jumped when he spoke, his voice still bearing the anger written so clearly upon his face. My mouth moved wordlessly, my shivering muscles too exhausted to obey him.

He grasped my arm near the elbow and lifted me up, my knees almost giving way beneath my own weight. I saw the faces of the crewmen; most were looking down sullenly, others looked at me with grave expressions.

The captain practically dragged me towards his cabin, slamming the door closed behind us. The darkness made me feel claustrophobic, trapped inside a room with someone who could kill me at a whim with his bare hands; judging by his tone of voice, that was a very likely outcome.

"Get on the bed."

"W-what?" My lips trembled as I wrapped my arms around my shivering torso. I had never felt so cold in my life.

"I'm really not in the mood for this right now, Elisabeth." I could hear his voice clearly, but I couldn't see where he was. "Get on the bed."

"No!" I cried out as I felt his hands on me, but I couldn't move away fast enough; he grabbed me roughly by the waist and lifted me up. I pushed against his torso weakly, feeling his sodden clothes under my palms, and suddenly felt overcome with exhaustion. My throat burned from all the seawater that I'd inhaled – my voice wouldn't let me protest.

He tossed me carelessly onto the bed, and I lay motionless, fearful of what his intentions were. His hands fondled the material of my shirt as he unclasped the first button, and I gasped in distress, trying to scramble away from him.

"For Christ's sake, stop _struggling!_" He yanked me back towards him, and his hands were pulling at my clothes again. My breathing quickened as I resisted him; I kicked and scratched in a blind panic, trying to escape from his grasp as he continued to unbutton my shirt.

"Stop it, stop! Please!" I cried pitifully, my hand pushing against his face to get him off of me. He growled in exasperation, managing to grasp both of my wrists to hold them still. He stopped moving, and eventually, so did I; my lungs heaved from the struggle, the only sound in the room, aside from the steady battering of rain from above. I could barely see the outline of his face, the rugged jawline, the dark scowl of his lips… I couldn't see his eyes at all, but somehow I felt them boring straight into mine.

"Are you done?" His tone was a soft purr, but still threatening. My skin prickled both from the cold and from the ominous timbre of his voice.

"Let go of me," I whispered, my voice seething in desperation.

"Elisabeth, you can't sleep in wet clothes – you'll get sick."

I stared back at him, unsure of how to respond. Could I trust him? Only moments ago he was forcing himself onto me, trying to undress me… I suppose it made sense, now. At least he wasn't drunk.

"If you weren't shaking like a leaf, I'd let you undress yourself." His voice was stern, yet oddly reassuring. I sighed and looked away.

"F-f-fine," I stuttered ridiculously, inwardly grimacing at how pathetic I sounded.

His hands moved to my shirt, gently unhooking each button. His fingers were deft and quick now that I was sitting still, and within seconds the shirt hung open, clinging to my shivering skin.

"Don't worry, I can't see anything…" he murmured, helping me lift my arm out of the shirt.

"Stop trying to c-console me, Edward." I closed my eyes and winced in pain when his hands inadvertently brushed across my ribs.

"Does that hurt?" He pressed against the same spot and I groaned softly.

"Obviously." I meekly swatted his hand away from the bruising where Armas had kicked me. Every time I inhaled, the pain from my ribs shuddered throughout my whole body. I leaned forward as Edward released my other arm from the shirt, and I sat unmoving, entirely bare.

"Under the covers," he spoke harshly, the concern gone from his voice.

I shook my head, refusing to get in bed with him. "I'd r-rather not."

I heard him sigh through his teeth - he was mad. "Damn it, Elisabeth! You're not helping yourself by being so stubborn."

"Perhaps n-next time you'll let me drown, then," I grumbled, turning my head away from him.

"Don't be such a child." He pulled the sheets out from under me, and I closed my eyes in defeat, lying back against the bed. I didn't have the energy to fight any more; I was too tired and too cold. I felt him move the heavy blanket over my body, and I sank against the cozy mattress, letting my muscles relax. I waited for him to say something – a snide remark, or sarcastic mockery, but he said nothing.

"Are y-you angry with _me_?" I murmured quietly, unsure if his sour mood had been caused by his outburst with Armas. I heard him snort softly at my question.

"Angry…" he mused aloud, displeasure heavy in his dark tone. "I'm furious with you."

"But… b-but none of this was my fault." My voice was muffled beneath the covers, but still audible.

"All of this is your fault."

I gritted my chattering teeth, preparing a reply in my head, but his voice cut me off.

"You disobeyed me. You cut the lines to the mast, a ridiculous feat in itself – we're lucky that Armas caught you before you did the same to the second mast. We would _not_ be escaping this storm alive if your thoughtless plan succeeded."

"But-"

"You then foolishly provoked Armas of your own accord – so he was right in saying that you deserved what happened."

"_But-"_

"And worst of all," he interrupted me again, his voice becoming louder as his temper overpowered him. "I was forced to act in your defense over something that _you_ explicitly caused – do you have any idea how long it will take me to fix this? To mend the crew's respect after taking the side of an insignificant wretch like you!"

I trembled as his voice ascended in fury. Resentment consumed me at first, but it was shame that prevented me from speaking. I just wanted this bed to swallow me whole.

"Perhaps I _will_ let you drown next time. You seem to cause more trouble than you are worth."

I said nothing. The sound of footsteps against the polished, wooden flooring indicated his departure, but the loud _slam_ of the door still made me jump in shock. I turned my face into the pillow, wanting to moan or sob in anger, but my voice was an airy whimper that faded quickly with my fatigued breathing. I had no tears to shed, despite my burning anguish and yearning to cry. I felt so helpless and unwanted.

I didn't _want_ to be on this ship. I didn't _want_ any of this. Yet Edward still blamed me for the sufferings I had caused. Perhaps he was right.

I tucked me legs closer to my torso, appreciating the security of the bed, but it only reminded me of the comforts of home… My husband, my pets, my family. That's where I was safe; that's where I was needed and loved. Despite the warmth of the bed and blanket, this ship seemed like a cold, wooden coffin.

The rain pelted heavily against the deck above my head, and thunder continued to roll murderously from the sky, but the exhaustion from my near-drowning took its toll on my body, and I soon fell asleep.

* * *

When I woke, my body felt peculiar, as though wrapped in something foreign and strange. I was no longer cold... If anything, I felt too warm. I opened my eyes blearily, and even though the room was still dark, I noticed that I was wearing a dark jacket over my bare skin. I blinked uncomprehendingly, knowing that I hadn't been wearing it when I fell asleep.

I rolled lazily over onto my side and closed my eyes, moving my arm closer to sniff the jacket, hoping it was clean – the musk of sweat was noticeable, but not overpowering amid the scent of gunpowder and fresh leather. The jacket smelled not only of the ocean; it smelled of _him._ I inhaled the fragrance again, not particularly disliking it.

"Enjoying yourself?"

I opened my eyes, searching for the source of the voice. Edward watched me idly from his desk, the usual smugness returned to his face.

"This jacket needs to be washed."

"Ah, well, you're the woman – perhaps we should add laundry duties to your responsibilities on board."

My stomach tensed painfully as I suppressed a snort; I concealed the sound by coughing dryly, lifting myself into a sitting position. My muscles ached something terrible.

I pulled the jacket over my bare chest, suddenly aware that I was naked underneath. "Did you put this on me?"

He smirked charmingly – I hated how he could do that. "I'm surprised it didn't wake you."

I kicked my nude legs over the side of the bed, my toes barely skimming against the floor. I still felt tired, and the world outside the window still seemed dark – I gazed inquiringly at the captain "What time is it?"

"Nearly dawn…" He stood from his chair, slowly approaching the bed. "Come, I want you to see something."

I gazed back impassively, not moving. "Are you still angry with me?"

"Yes – now get up." He picked up my shirt from the end of the bed and cast it towards me. "I'll meet you outside."

I huffed at his belittling tone, blowing a stray lock of hair from my face, and waited for him to leave the room before shrugging the jacket off of my shoulders. My shirt was dry now, but it still held the briny smell that reminded me of my ordeal from the previous night. I tried not to touch the dark purple bruising on my ribs as I quickly dressed myself, buttoning up the shirt with haste, not wanting to keep the captain waiting any longer. His temper had improved drastically – I wanted to keep it that way.

I emerged on the main deck, and the first thing I noticed was that the breeze was warm on my skin. The sky was still dark, and a few stars twinkled scarcely amid the spaces between the clouds. The sea was calm, but not eerily so.

The second thing I noticed was that both of the masts were still upright and perfectly intact, lending credence to the foolishness of my actions. I should have just trusted the captain's judgment from the beginning.

I caught sight of Edward standing near the network of ropes that connected high on the mast. He gestured me with his hand to come closer; his dark eyes glinted with something unfathomable. I approached hesitantly, looking out upon the ocean. The horizon was bare and murky. "What am I meant to be looking at?"

"Patience, Elisabeth. We'll have to climb first."

My brows furrowed, glancing back towards Edward. "… Pardon?"

"Don't look so worried, it's much easier than it seems." He smiled pleasantly, which did very little to reassure my nerves.

"I… I can't handle heights, Edward." I shook my head, stepping back from the side of the ship. He grabbed my hand before I could get away, pulling my closer to the railing.

"Don't look down, then," he replied dismissively, trivialising my fear as he moved my hands to the rope. "Don't think – just climb."

I scowled at his insistence. "Is there anything I can say that will make you change your mind?"

He chuckled quietly, his hands still touching mine. "Absolutely not."

"Help me up, then," I sighed in acceptance, bracing my hands against the line as he lifted me over and onto the outside of the netting. I climbed a few rungs of the rope before he expertly swung himself over and joined me. I clutched the rope as it shifted under his weight, looking down towards him.

"Um, do you mind climbing ahead of me? I feel a bit… exposed." My shirt flapped in the faint breeze, my bare legs shivering under his scrutiny.

"If you lose your footing I won't be able to help."

I blinked, my fear of heights more cumbersome than my sense of modesty. "Fine, just… just promise you won't look up."

"I don't make promises I can't keep."

I exhaled through my nose, frustrated by his perverted sense of humor. The silence that followed was unnerving, but I continued to climb, doing exactly what he told me to – not thinking.

My foot slipped on the damp rigging and for a moment my heart felt like it jumped into my tonsils, but Edward quickly caught my ankle before I could lose my balance. I rested limply against the ropes, catching my breath. The further we climbed the more the masts swayed in the gentle tide, and every time the ship rocked my stomach sank.

"When you reach the end of the ratline, climb up onto the top board."

I looked up, seeing a flat level of wood just beneath the peak of the sails. From it, the flag was erected high and billowed like a menacing omen in the dark light. The skull watched me chillingly.

My hands met with rough wood as the lines connected with the mast, and with shivering palms, I gripped the wood and lifted myself up, my breath shaking as I realised how high I'd climbed. I gripped the centre beam of wood that supported the tip of the sail and scrunched my eyes closed, suddenly overcome with dizziness.

I heard Edward laugh at me as he hoisted himself onto the same level. "Sit down."

"I-I can't. It's too high."

I clung to the wood like a lifeline, too terrified to let go. I _knew_ this had been a terrible idea.

"Give me your hand."

After a moment of indecision, I reluctantly pried one of my hands from the wood and blindly extended it towards him. The warmth of his palm found mine, and despite the rigidity of my hand, he entwined his fingers and held them tight. I released a distressed breath, not feeling any more secure.

"Now sit down." His hand pulled me down, and I slowly lowered myself to sit beside him. Finally, I opened my eyes. The ocean was a dark expanse of navy blue that met seamlessly with the darkness of the sky, so much so that I couldn't recognize where one ended and the other began. Wind swept serenely from the passing storm, all traces of the departing chaos long vanished from sight. Everything was still and silent, as though we were both contained within a void of peace. The main deck seemed so insignificant beneath us.

Edward's legs hung freely and carelessly over the panel of wood, clearly unfazed by the immense height. My legs dangled rigidly, hooked beneath it, refusing to relax or succumb to Edward's reassuring presence. Neither of us said a word, until I eventually questioned his intention of bringing me up here.

"I still don't understand…" I regarded him nervously as I spoke, my voice feeling strangely loud in my throat.

"Shhh…" he chided, smiling harmlessly. His eyes returned to the sea, and my gaze soon followed.

We sat in silence. I stopped counting time as I found myself leaning back in easement, the height no longer daunting me, given that I refused to look down. Perhaps I had been looking too hard – perhaps _this_ is what Edward wanted me to see.

Serenity. Peace. Silence. Until now, those words were merely things I had read aloud from books, or heard spoken in plays. I thought I understood them as much as any other word – but I was grossly mistaken. _This_ was their true meaning – being so high in the sky that the world below no longer mattered. I had never heard the sound of silence in my entire life until now.

More importantly, I understood why he chose to live the way he did. Not as a pirate – but as a free man. His life was full of selfish gratification, but it was more than that… he was fulfilled. He was brimming with life. I only needed to glance sideward at him to see the contentment in his eyes to know this was true. I was envious, but underlying my cupidity was respect. He was a ruthless, self-seeking pirate – and I respected him. I couldn't believe my own thoughts.

I saw something change in his eyes; his contentment became passion, and no more than a second later, daylight broke the surface of the horizon. The sky's transformation left me without breath or thought. Violet swelled ethereally through the clouds for one mesmerising second, before a vivid peach stole its place among them. The sky was ablaze, the rose and golden light spreading like wildfire through the heavens. When the sun finally breached the sea's horizon, it shimmered on its surface like a ghostly remnant of the moon, the reflection so pale it was barely a halo.

I watched the dawn as though I'd never before seen the fruit of nature's toil. It was such a simple thing, but it was astounding.

I looked at Edward, the warm glow of sunrise illuminating his unshaven face. I saw more flaws upon his skin now – there was another scar along the bridge of his nose, and another that impinged over his eyebrow. They were imperfections, but endearing ones. I could only hope to imagine the tale behind each one.

I suddenly realised that his hand was still clasped around mine. I moved my fingers uncertainly, and he responded by stroking his thumb over the smooth skin of my knuckles. Uneasiness overcame me again, and I quickly slipped my hand out from under his, instead gripping the wooden pane beneath me.

"Look," his soft voice brought me back to attention, and I lifted my eyes to his. They gleamed excitedly, accentuating his youth, which was something I often forgot about him. I followed his gaze back to the sea, and saw in the distance a long mass of land, now fully visible in the morning light.

"That's Sao Miguel, our first stop."

My eyes widened curiously, suddenly thrilled at the prospect of finally getting off of this ship. "Have you been there before?"

"Yes – it's beautiful."

I looked out upon the sea in awe, a genuine smile brightening my face. "I can't wait…"

He chuckled at my enthusiasm, a small grin of his own softening the sharpness of his eyes. "Nor can I – the booze is cheap, and the women are even cheaper."

I laughed, amused by his crude wording, and let my legs dangle freely in the air. "If only life was so easy, Captain."

He smirked brashly, tipping his head back to enjoy the breeze - like a warm breath from the sun itself. "If only."

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**Enjoy the fluffiness while it lasts. The next chapter will take a huge u-turn in their relationship!**

**Leave a review if you liked it – otherwise bloody mary will come out from under your bed while you're sleeping and eat your face off.**

**Love you all! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**There are no words that encompass just how sorry I am to have taken this long to update (I promise that I still have every intention to continue with this story). Originally, their entire stay in Sao Miguel was meant to only span a single chapter, but after the positive response from everyone regarding the romance aspect of the story so far, I've decided to extend this part by an additional chapter or two. The 'u-turn' I mentioned in my last author's note will still be happening, just not yet hehe.**

**Reviewer response time! **

**imAginE moOn: Normally I would reply to this through a PM, but as you are an anonymous user this is my only means of communicating with you. I didn't see your review as a flame at all. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far (and that you described **_**exactly**_** what you like, which is brilliant), but reviews should be strictly critical of the story itself, not describing what you dislike about my personality. Telling me that I'm cocky was incredibly confusing, but more importantly, it detracted from the validity of the rest of your review, which contained very decent, helpful insights. A good review **_**shouldn't**_** be aimed at the author on a personal level – the fact that you assumed I was going to delete your review makes me think that you are aware of this. But hey, I don't feel insulted. If Edward Kenway can pull off cockiness and still be a badass, then I can only take your words as a thinly veiled compliment haha. I look forward to (hopefully) receiving another review from you in the future!**

**MTCR'1-MR.2-ID.3-MI.4-VA: (is this, or is this not, the best username ever?)**

**I really want them to be together as well, but what is a romance story without one or two obstacles to overcome! I actually did consider Edward's manwhore-ish tendencies to be a focal point for this chapter, but thought it might be a tad predictable for my viewers – as emphasised by your comment haha. I guess you'll just have to wait until the next chapter to find out what happens!**

**Dark Sun: Grrr, another anonymous reviewer that I can't message back! I'm not really sure how to answer your review – I suppose that because it is a romance fanfic, as stated by the genre, it probably will follow only Elisabeth and Edward's relationship. That's what a romance is (in my opinion, which could be wrong). However, I didn't know whether your question meant 'would it follow ONLY their relationship' in comparison to Elisabeth's relationship with someone else, or an entirely separate romantic relationship with other characters, or will the story branch into another genre altogether i.e. adventure, angst, mystery, etc. Your question was very open-ended and rhetorical – maybe you could give me suggestions as to what else you'd like to see in the story. My strength is definitely the romance genre, but as the story progresses, we will delve into Elisabeth's many other relationships with the crew, people on land, other pirates, her family and of course – her elusive past.**

**Savage Kill: Good question! The u-turn that I mentioned (which will probably happen in one of the next chapters) will effectively be a step backwards in Elisabeth and Edwards relationship… however, I personally consider it a **_**good**_** thing in the long run. It will slow down the development of their relationship to a more genuine and believable pace, so that when they do finally overcome their problems, their relationship will be more satisfying for everyone, given that they really battled to find a bond with one another. Plus it gives me more room to chuck in copious amounts of drama and teasing. ;)**

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The closer we approached the island, the more I understood how true Edward's words had been. Sao Miguel was beautiful, in more ways than one; the island sloped majestically at the shore, rising to meet the steep ridges of the mountains that emerged in the blue-gray distance. The lush greenery only became greener as we sailed closer. Small buildings appeared amidst the tropical landscape, and ships of varying size emerged from all directions along the shore.

It amazed me how such a bustling haven could exist so far from the mainland. We passed a number of ships as we approached the port; I noticed how they kept their distance from us, probably taking heed of the dark flag that forewarned them of the Jackdaw's treacherous occupation.

Edward stood at the raised helm of the wheel, calling the ship into half-sail; the towering vessel moved slower through the clean tide, it's maneuverability hindered by the fact that only one of the main sails were hoisted – no thanks to myself. I was surprised that none of the crew had insulted or mocked me for cutting the lines to the sails yet, but the day was still young.

The ship weaved between the small peninsulas of rock that affronted our path to the shore, moving under the guidance of Edward's proficient hand. I moved to the front of the ship, curious to see the harbour as we approached. The wind burned my eyes and cast my hair askew, but the view from the ship's bow was incredible.

Beyond the many ships dipping buoyantly in the swell, a large town was nestled amidst the greenery; the buildings appeared small, but densely crowded together without streets or order.

"Lower the sails, steady now," the captain's voice was rigid in concentration, and the ship appeared to berth itself effortlessly against the wooden wharf standing erect in the shallowing tide. Most of the men onboard worked together to tie the sails down, whilst others leapt over and onto the wharf to secure the ship with yards of line. From my peripheral vision, I noticed Rico approach the rail with a coil of rope over his shoulder, and without hesitating, I dashed towards him as he turned his back to climb over the side of the ship.

"Rico!"

He turned to me in confusion, eyes narrowing at my approach. I disregarded the cold welcome as I offered him a meek smile. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No," he muttered, and I noticed that his jaw tensed at the impatient sound of his voice. He turned to hoist himself over the side banister, but I grasped his slim wrist before he could get a leg up.

"Wait… I don't understand, I was just offering to help-" My voice was cut off with a gasp as his free hand suddenly grabbed my forearm, straining my elbow sharply in discomfort. I immediately released his wrist, stunned by the strength of his slender arm, and shocked by his enmity towards me.

"Don't, Elisabeth. For your own sake." He slowly released my arm and averted his eyes.

I huffed softly in frustration. "What an earth is that supposed to mean? Is this why you've been avoiding me?" His unfriendliness was definitely uncharacteristic of him, but as we hadn't spoken properly in days, it was obvious that I had done _something_ to cause such aversion from him.

He blatantly ignored me, eventually finding the fortitude to shake his head and hoist himself off of the ship. I stood in silence, my pleasant mood soured by his standoffish behaviour. I moved my hands onto the ship's wooden rail to lift myself across, but a firm hand upon my shoulder held me back.

"Leave him be." Edward's voice was stern, but somehow sympathetic. I shrugged his palm away and turned away from the captain with a perplexed frown.

"I was only offering to help him. I've not done anything to warrant such disrespect..." I gazed up at the captain in contemplation, just in time to see an amused grin appear on his face.

"Nor have you done anything to deserve his respect."

"I shouldn't need to," I murmured absently, more to myself than to Edward.

"Why? Do you expect everyone to treat you like royalty simply because you're of a privileged background?" The mockery in his voice made me livid, worsened only by the fact that he was intentionally trying to rile me.

"_No._ Because I thought we were friends… or that we at least shared a mutual loneliness." My voice became less defensive and more forlorn as I spoke, as though the revelation had crossed my mouth before it crossed my mind.

Lonely - no other word could describe how I was truly feeling on board this ship. Rico and I were outcasts for differing reasons; he, because of his race, and myself because… well, because a number of reasons - my gender, my wealth, and my behaviour. And now that I was being alienated by Rico as well, it truly did rub salt into my already wounded ego.

Edward's self-assured voice roused me from my self-pitying. "Perhaps you need to learn to not take things to heart so easily. I'm sure he'll share whatever is troubling him if it is important; for now, do not dwell on what can't be changed."

I pursed my lips, resisting the urge to disagree with him. Perhaps, for once, he was right, but before he could relish the fact that his advice had left me without a rebuke, I changed the topic. "So what are our plans for today, then?"

"Well," he crossed his arms over his chest as though feigning consideration. "_My_ plans involve paying the dockage fee for the ship, then the crew and I will freight our goods to the marketplace. By dusk, we'll be loaded to the teeth with gold."

I smiled curiously, excited at the prospect of exploring the markets and the foreign landscape. "And what of me? I assume you're not going to let me wander the island on my own."

"Of course not." I didn't think it possible, but his curt, roguish grin somehow became more mocking. "I'm afraid you're staying with Lyford on the ship."

I raised a brow in amusement, hoping to call his bluff. "That's odd. I distinctly recall you saying that I'm free to do as I please, seeing as though I'm not your prisoner."

"A word of advice, Elisabeth," he drawled, his voice almost brimming with condescension. "Never trust the words of a pirate."

"I'm not staying on this ship, Edward, I'm sick of it. You said I was free!"

"I'm not negotiating with you. You're staying here with Lyford." He stared at me with an unsmiling expression, clearly not amused by my defiance.

Nor was I amused by his blatant dishonesty. "And if I don't?" I questioned sharply, having every intention of leaving - especially now that freedom was so close upon the shoreline.

He stared at me in aloof regard; the grim set of his jaw was menacing, despite the amusement hidden within his glare. "If you truly think I am above binding your wrists and _tying_ you to the damned ship, then you are gravely mistaken."

I gritted my teeth without a response, hoping that the resentment in my eyes would speak for itself. I was not a violent person by any means – in fact, I usually _detested_ violence, but at that very moment I wished I could have struck him with something heavy and blunt. He had sworn to me that I was a free woman, yet he treated me with such indifference and callousness that I may as well have been bound in shackles and caged below the deck.

No, I was not free – he may have sugarcoated my imprisonment with pleasant food and the occasional smile or inappropriate affection, but I was no different to a common hostage for what little freedom I had.

Scowling, I hastily strode past him – making sure my arm shunted him for good measure – and approached the stairs to the lower deck, not daring to cast him a backwards glance. It hurt my pride to submit so easily to him, but the idea of him actually tying me down with rope was far more degrading. Sitting quietly and behaving as I was told was something I was far more familiar with, more so than I would care to admit.

Sighing in defeat more than anger, I descended the steps and headed towards the ship's small kitchen, or 'galley', if I were to adopt the crew's obscene slang. The deck was mostly overcrowded with crates and other cargo, but I had ventured to this end of the ship so many times that I could probably navigate my way with my eyes closed – it was that dark that it probably wouldn't have made a blind bit of difference anyway.

Realising that Lyford wasn't in the galley, I changed direction and approached his cabin, noticing that the door was already ajar. Regardless, I knocked on the door softly before pushing it open. Lyford was stooped at his peculiar three-legged desk, quill in hand, apparently too preoccupied to even look up as I entered. The poorly concealed smirk was his only visible change at my approach.

"Elisabeth. What a pleasant surprise." His deadpan tone and suppressed grin made me assume otherwise. Obviously, he knew that I had been ordered to come down here. I scowled in frustration, knowing that he found my belittlement almost as amusing as Edward did.

"That man… is an absolute _arse_!" I sat on his bed with a forced exhale, unable to shake the anger from my mind.

"Surely you're not referrin' to our sweet-tempered Captain?"

Oh, how very droll.

"He won't even tell me why I'm being forced to stay. He treats me like a misbehaved child, and… and it's so infuriating that it actually makes me _want_ to misbehave. Almost like I've stopped caring about proving him wrong." I swallowed to allow myself a moment to think, to fully articulate my thoughts.

"I feel that… being trapped on this ship just brings out the worst in me."

"The ship brings out the worst in everyone, Elisabeth. How d'ya think we've all come to be this way?" The softness to his voice held an unspoken sadness that I'd never heard from this stoic man before.

I shrugged slowly, knowing that his question had been rhetorical, yet I pondered over the answer anyway. "I suppose I'd assumed that pirates had _always_ been inclined to be… selfish and cruel. How else could anyone embrace such a punishing life without being born for it?"

He placed the quill back onto the table and turned to me with a conflicted expression. His brows appeared hardened in anger, yet his eyes were worn with a strange patience that seemed to beckon further explanation from me. I blinked wordlessly, suddenly aware that my blunt rationalisation had probably insulted him, despite it not being my intention.

"I-I mean… how could anyone with a decent heart commit to a life that thrives on stealing and killing, and bringing misery to others." I watched him curiously, knowing that my insights were not wrong, yet doubting whether Lyford would understand it.

"It ain't a valiant life that we lead, I'll admit." His gaze returned to the desk, where a handful of papers were stacked and scattered in disarray. "In fact, you _are_ right, for the most part. We do thrive on turmoil – but let me show you somethin'…"

He collected a number of the loose pages together and handed them to me; I accepted them, observing the foreign writing scrawled in smudged ink. I flicked through the first few pages, noticing how the strange words became more cluttered and hurried, before Lyford continued to speak.

"That is a letter to my wife outlinin' the ship's course: where we've been', where we're heading, and how long it will take us. We'll be sailin' to Nassau in the coming months, it's all there. I've detailed every successful raid an' the plunder we've sold, the ship's we've marauded, an' all the men I've killed. Every last one of 'em."

Well, no wonder the letter was so long. I looked up at him, expecting to see guilt or shame in his eyes from the manner that he spoke, but they only appeared grim and unchanging. Almost… tolerant and accepting of what he'd just told me. Before I could respond, he handed me another piece of paper. "And this is a letter to my four-year-old daughter who has been suffering from tuberculosis since birth."

I gazed at him silently for a moment, genuinely saddened by what he'd just told me, and as I looked down to the letter my brows furrowed in question. "This letter… it's blank."

"Yes, it is." When I looked up at him again, I saw the same conflicted expression on his face – a hardened expression that hadn't been directed at me, but at himself. "I can write to my wife and say what needs to be said. Being honest with her… it's easy, simple. But writing to my daughter, completely lying to shield my life from her… it's near impossible."

I sighed inaudibly, gazing down at the empty paper in my hands as though searching for words of reassurance or comfort. The meaningless, blank space upon the page seemed to depict my own speechlessness.

He cleared his gruff throat. "The last time I held her in my arms, she coughed up so much blood I was sure there'd be nothin' left of her. She's too fragile to know the truth of who I am, yet I struggle to find words for anythin' else. I thought of writing 'bout how easy and carefree my life is on the ship, how I'm safe and will be home soon, but none of that is true."

"Well…" I thought aloud, handing the letters back to him. "Perhaps you can tell her the truth without lying at all. Do not write about the ship, or its business… you don't need to write anything about your life here. All she needs to know is that she has a father who loves and misses her… and no amount of distance between you will change that."

He nodded absently, clearly deliberating over my words. Though he did not smile, his stern expression softened. "Thank you… that _is_ quite helpful."

He sounded surprised, but I didn't question him why. He probably assumed that I wouldn't have shown an interest in his life; probably in the same way I had blindly assumed that all pirates lived according to their own greed. As he picked up the quill and began to write, I cocked my head in curiosity. "What language is that, may I ask?"

I couldn't see his face, but from his tone of voice I imagined that he was smiling. "Yes, you may ask – but first you have to tell me what languages _you_ know?"

I blinked at his strange question, but I decided that I'd humour him. "Well, you already know that I can speak Italian. I'm quite articulate in French, Latin and German, and I've recently started to learn Portuguese, but… I'm not fluent yet."

He looked at me with a slightly dumbfounded expression, and I smiled awkwardly, embarrassed by his fascination. "I… I spent most of my childhood with my nose in some book or other. Most girls my age could dance, or sew, or sing – but my talent has always been talking_._"

He nodded in amusement. "Ironic - even with all ya smarts and ya fancy education you've never heard of Haitian Creole. It's sorta similar to French."

"…Haitian Creole? You're from Haiti?" I mused aloud, making the connection between the two fairly quickly. I knew my way around a globe as well as any seafaring man, or a dog-eared pirate, for that matter.

"Aye – moved to New Providence after I got married to find work. It was hard leavin' the only place I'd ever known… but it had to be done."

I nodded perceptively, but something in what he'd just said struck me unexpectedly. Wasn't that what had happened to me? Italy was the only home I'd ever known – it was my place of birth, my entire childhood, my home – and being parted from it so suddenly to be thrown into this foreign world was an overwhelming change to come to terms with. I sighed in reconsideration, knowing that his reason for leaving home was vastly different to mine; he _chose_ to leave to find somewhere he could raise a family. My reason was without choice, and not nearly as dignified.

Feeling suddenly humbled and admiring, I offered Lyford a weak smile. "I'm sorry for what I said before… You aren't selfish and cruel at all."

"Well, most pirates are. No need to be sorry."

"Nevertheless, it's an ignorant belief. You are proof of that – you're only here to support your family." I grinned honestly.

He smiled faintly, but it did not reach his eyes. "I was only meant to be here temporary, y'know. I even took on a new name so when I went home… I wouldn't have to hear it every day and be reminded of the things I'd done on this ship."

"Lyford isn't your real name?" I smiled in intrigue, hoping that he would share more.

"Nope. Edward picked me up from Lyford Cay in New Providence, promised me a good wage… the name stuck," he shrugged dismissively. "Most of us use different names for the same reason as me. New name - new start."

"So, Rico - where is he from?" I questioned, realising now why he'd been given that nickname, rather than using his real name.

"Puerto Rico. He's never shared anythin' of his past beyond where he's from."

"I see…" I contemplated over what could've possibly happened to him to make him seek refuge on a pirate ship. He was younger than myself – he wouldn't have had a family of his own to support. He probably had no one… perhaps that was a reason on its own.

"I sympathise with you, Lyford, I really do. I understand that it must be… _difficult_, forsaking all morals to be here. But I simply can't believe that all pirates are born with hearts as true as yours – not when men like Armas exist." I looked away from him, the mere thought of that hateful brute embittering my expression.

"Armas is a troubled man-"

"He is a _monster_! He harasses and insults me, and treats me like – like some piece of shit he's scraped off the bottom of his boot!" I spat the curse word in resentment, appalled that Lyford would even attempt to defend him.

He nodded at my words, but something about the tolerance in his expression made me think he was unconvinced. "And you have no clue why he treats you this way?"

"No. I've done _nothing_ to him."

Lyford shook his head in discontent, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "I'm surprised that Edward hasn't told you…"

"Told me what?"

"Why he resents you – it's actually the same reason he also hates Rico. It's nothin' personal."

My brows furrowed sternly, feeling suddenly defensive over Rico, who was treated almost as poorly as myself. "Tell me."

From the silence that followed, I assumed Lyford wasn't going to explain his words at all. My stare hardened demandingly, and he exhaled in defeat. "What do you know of the treaty of Utrecht?"

I frowned in confusion. "Not a lot… I know that it recently ended the war for the Spanish throne. It made peace between the feuding countries. How is that relevant?"

"Peace for some, perhaps. That's the contradiction of peace – for the majority to be at harmony, a minority must suffer."

"What do you mean?" I leaned forward, eyeing him dubiously.

"That treaty _did_ help in endin' the war, but at a cost. It appointed Phillip the Fifth as the new king of Spain, under the promise that Spain's European territories would be apportioned. However, there's another contract within that treaty that's far less renowned. It's known as _Asiento._" My eyes widened in intrigue, having not heard of this 'Asiento' before in my life.

"It's a thirty-year contract given to Britain that promises the unlimited supplyin' of African slaves to the Spanish colonies in America. It's a vicious business, the slave trade."

"Forgive me, Lyford…" I tilted my head in deliberation. "But I still don't see how this has anything to do with Armas?"

His mouth was pressed into a straight line, but he did not lose patience at my ignorance. "Y'see, Elisabeth, not all slaves are born into slavery. The Asiento demanded such a huge surplus of slaves that children had to be stolen from their families, babies taken from their mothers, fathers an' brothers were threatened with death if they didn't surrender themselves." The more he spoke, the harsher his voice became.

"Armas was born in Angola. There was no way for him to escape slavery, even if he'd known of the Asiento beforehand."

My eyes widened slightly in understanding, but sensing my unease, Lyford continued to explain. "He was sold to a noblewoman in Cuba, who treated him poorly; the scars that he bears are souvenirs of her abuse. Eventually, he killed her and fled to Havana's port, where Edward found him brawlin' at the Plaza de Armas. He offered him a place onboard the Jackdaw, an' even to this day, he hasn't told us his real name."

My gaze slowly sank to my lap, the bare skin of my legs prickling at the chilling comprehension of Armas' story. After a few short moments, I felt the mattress sink as Lyford's heavy body sat beside me. He placed a stout hand upon my shoulder in reassurance; the sensation was odd, but not in a perverted way. It felt almost… fatherly.

"I don't expect you to sympathise with him after what he's done to you… but at least now you can understand that none of it is personal. _All_ women he has come to hate, 'cause of how he was treated. The same goes for Rico and every other Spaniard he meets – if not for the Spanish, the Asiento would not have forced him into slavery in the first place."

I looked up, but not at Lyford; for some ridiculous reason, I felt ashamed of my own resentment towards Armas. It made sense now – why he had treated me so awfully, but by understanding him I felt like I was pitying him… _forgiving_ him, even. I was betraying the very nature of my pride, being humbled by a beast such as Armas.

"Is he still here?" I turned to glance at Lyford inquiringly.

"Who – Armas?"

"Yes, is he still on the ship?"

Lyford frowned warily, obviously reluctant to answer as my question seemed highly suspicious. "He'll be somewhere on the lower deck. The captain broke his nose last night – he won't be doin' any work today."

A shadow of a smile appeared on my lips upon hearing of Armas' injury, but I erased the smirk almost immediately. I didn't want Lyford to think that I was cruel or petty – even if a small part of me was. "Should I speak with him… to apologise for yesterday?"

Lyford shook his head, his expression suddenly very serious. "No, Elisabeth – not unless you wanna be ripped in half b'fore you've even opened your gob."

"But we can't spend the rest of our time on this ship hating each other!"

"Look…" he sighed at my persistence, rubbing his forehead in thought. "I understand you wanna quell your issues with him - really, I do. But he ain't a reasonable man. He's far more dangerous than you know."

I kept my lips sealed, knowing that Lyford was right, but hoping that maybe… maybe I might find something undiscovered in Armas; some rare, overlooked semblance of humanity inside him. He was only human, after all - how much hatred could one person truly hold on to?

Lyford made one final attempt to dissuade me. "Please, Elisabeth – _please _leave him well enough alone."

I looked at him and smiled harmlessly, knowing that he would only relent if I agreed with him. "Fine… fine. It was a stupid idea anyway."

Well, that wasn't a lie at all. It was a monumentally stupid idea.

He nodded and heaved himself off of the bed to approach his desk. "Good. Edward asked me to take up some of these maps an' papers to his cabin; we liberated 'em from Jennings' ship before it sunk. He'll prob'ly need to discuss a few things with you later as well."

"What for?" I looked at him in mild concern, uncertain of how I was involved with any of the documents salvaged from Captain Jennings' ship. I hadn't even realised that they'd taken anything other than those chests.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Beats me, I'm jus' the cook."

He smirked at that final remark and gathered a thick heap of torn papers from his desk, leaving the small room with loud, echoing footsteps. I waited from him to disappear from earshot before I quickly stood and exited through the door.

Despite Lyford's fervent warnings, I needed to speak with Armas. Without knowing how much longer I was going to be forced to live here on this ship, I couldn't stay here with this animosity hanging over me like a dark, lingering shadow. Not knowing how Armas truly felt about me seemed far more foreboding and dangerous than simply apologising to him about this whole mess.

Perhaps it was foolishly brave of me, like prodding a slumbering lion with a peace offering of meat; whilst he might accept the offering, it was also just as likely that I'd have my arm torn off. Sometimes, however, my blind courage had a way of working in my favour.

However rare that was.

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**Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and all concepts therein belong to Ubisoft. I own nothing! :) **

**Thanks for reading! I hope there weren't any glaring mistakes that somehow managed to hide from me. The next chapter should be out within the next week or so.**

…**just kidding! I'm actually uploading it right now. **

**Enjoy**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi again! I nearly stayed up until 4am getting this bloody chapter finished, so hopefully there aren't too many errors.**

**Let's get straight into the chapter!**

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I moved silently through the lower deck, my eyes straining to see through the stark dimness. I had _no_ idea where Armas could be – it was far more likely that he would hear my approach long before I even caught sight of him. My bare toe stubbed against the corner of a crate and I cursed loudly, biting my lip so hard I could've swore I tasted blood.

"Get out."

The sudden deep voice that followed my cussing almost startled me out of my skin. I stared through the darkness, my view already hindered by the countless chests and barrels, yet I somehow managed to recognise the towering outline of a man leaning against a crate. I steadied my breathing, already flustered by the clear, menacing sound of his voice. He didn't _sound_ like he had a broken nose.

I frowned as I realised how ridiculous that thought seemed in my head.

I cleared my throat inoffensively. "Armas… can we talk?"

"I got nothin' to say to you."

I stayed still, not wanting to take a single step closer. "Good. You can listen to _me_ for once." There it was – my blind courage. I knew I hadn't lost it.

"You're a… a vile man, Armas. You have no respect for anyone but yourself. You are cruel and vicious, and take pleasure in making others miserable – but I owe you an apology."

He said nothing. I wasn't sure whether to be unnerved by his silence, or to take it as an invitation to continue. After another moment of waiting, I decided to go on. "Despite how you've treated me, I should never have hit you… _there_. We are both responsible for what happened last night, yet you've suffered the most, and for that I am truly sorry."

I tried not to let my voice sound recited and formal, but the more I spoke, the more hesitant I became. He still refused to talk, or even acknowledge what I'd said. Perhaps he thought my apology wasn't sincere, given that it was so unexpected of me. Regardless of the voice in my head telling me to accept his silence and leave, I stayed where I was. I wanted _something_ from him – a nod, a grunt, even a derisive snort – anything.

I wish I'd just kept my mouth closed.

"Lyford told me everything… about you. Your past. I suppose I understand why you dislike me, because you think I'm the same as that woman who treated you awfully. What happened to you was wrong, Armas, but taking your anger out on me will not fix anything."

"Tell me somethin', Elisabeth." When he finally spoke, it really surprised me. His voice was not terrifying or sharpened by scorn, but calm and genuine. It was also the first time he'd ever actually spoken my name.

"Did your family own any slaves?"

I blinked at his forthright question, but answered him immediately. "No. None."

"None at all?" His tone fell dangerously in demand. "Not even servants?"

"Well…" I lost my voice in contemplation. We _did_ have servants; many of them, in fact, but that was entirely normal for aristocratic families. None of them were seen as slaves, though.

"Yes, we did own maids, and a cook. But we respected them dearly, and they were paid well."

He laughed gruffly, but the sound was without humour. "Wha'ever pittance they received, it don't mean they're free people. You jus' said yourself… you _owned_ them."

"I-I didn't mean… not like that, I meant-"

"For someone who thinks they understand my life, you sure talk a lot of shit about your own. Servants are like any other slave - bought n' paid for. You're jus' like the rest of them rich filth."

My eyes widened in both apprehension and anger as his temper flared massively, furious by his words, yet shamed by them as well. "Listen Armas, regardless of my life, you can't blame _me_ for what happened to you. It isn't right."

"Ain't that surprising - you lot always think you're blameless. Always someone else's fault, never your own. Well let me tell you something, _woman,_" he spat out the final word as though the mere taste of it in his mouth was vile. I heard him approach me, but the darkness of his skin made it difficult to discern exactly where he was. The hotness of his breath swarmed my face suddenly when he spoke, and I stumbled backwards in shock.

"Y'may not look anything like _her_, but beneath that harmless little mask, you sure as shit wear the same face. You speak the same words, share the same wealth an' corruption…" I moved backwards again, alarmed by the sudden ferocity in his voice, but my back met with something solid and immovable - I was cornered against the wall. I panicked, holding my hands up to try and keep him away, but the heavy sound of his breathing lingered somewhere above me.

"Killin' her was easy, you know…" his voice quieted dangerously, and I inhaled loudly out of fear. My breath trembled as though my panic had forfeited the right to my lungs. I felt his palm press against my throat, both firm and gentle; his long, solid fingers encircled my neck, yet still, he did not squeeze. He merely held me in his grasp – not tenderly, but maliciously. I didn't dare move, or speak, or even whimper. I couldn't move the air out of my lungs, even though his touch was barely anything more than a fondle.

His rough chin brushed over my cheek as his words became hushed, sickening whispers. "But it was… _too_ easy. Too empty. For all the pain an' humiliation she put me through, there was no closure in killin' her." The close proximity of his lips to my skin would have felt perverted in any other situation, but there was nothing sexual or carnal about the way he held me. He was angry, but restrained. I was terrified.

His fingers stiffened as they began to tighten around my neck. I clutched frantically at his wrist, but the strength of his grip was like wrought iron. "Hurting you… it heals that emptiness. 'Cause you ain't no different to her. You _are_ her."

His grip became stronger, and I choked against the heaving sensation as he bore down against my neck. His hand shook, not out of unsteadiness, but in laughter. "I wonder if your neck would snap as easy as hers…"

In one final squeeze, he shoved me backwards as he released my neck, and my sharp intake of breath almost burned my lungs. I coughed dryly, feeling the warmth flood to my face as the circulation returned.

"Unfortunately, the Captain finds some worth in you… for now." I didn't even need to look up to know that those final words had brought a smirk to his lips. "But when his interest in you ends, I _will_ finish this. You can bet yer blood on it. That's my promise to you."

I glared at him through the darkness, my body rife with terror and anger, yet I refused to let it surface. I didn't wait for him to speak, or to turn from me – the only poise I could salvage was by being the first to walk away. He didn't deserve a parting comment or snide remark – not that I could have mustered a good one in my distraught state.

I retreated from him slowly, my expression ultimately composed and void of emotion, navigating my way back towards Lyford's room. I closed the door softly, and in that moment, my façade entirely collapsed. A heaving sigh shuddered through my body as I sat in front of the desk, linking my fingers together to stop them from shivering. Never before had I been swarmed by so many emotions so suddenly; physically overwhelmed by it, I rested my cheek against my clasped hands and sobbed in silence. There were no tears – only breathless gasps that wracked my body with fear and unease.

Beyond my fear, there was searing anger directed not only towards Armas, but at everyone involved in my capture. Captain Jennings, Edward, even Lyford to an extent. My sympathy for Armas was entirely gone, replaced instead by humiliation for being so naïve and credulous. When I closed my eyes I could still feel his thick fingers crushing my neck, and hear his vile words being whispered hotly against my ear.

_I wonder if your neck would snap as easy as hers…_

I felt ill as I considered how easily he could have killed me just then. Even after being abducted _twice_, and nearly drowning on more than one occasion, the prospect of death had never before seemed so real as when his grip had been around my throat depriving me of air. Had there not been pleasure in his dark eyes and voice, I wouldn't have been convinced by his death threat. His promise was still vivid in my mind, the words painful to relive.

_When his interest in you ends, I will finish this. You can bet yer blood on it._

I knew he was right, of course – the captain's interest in me was fleeting at best, and would soon pass when he discovered that I was truly of little worth to him - the reason he refused to let me leave was a mystery even to myself. And when that inevitable day came, when he decided that I was nothing more than a dead weight upon his ship, Armas would be there to finish me for his own twisted vengeance. What angered me more was that I actually _understood_ why he wanted me dead – an appalling notion, but one I could not discard so easily. I understood his bitterness for living in slavery; I even understood how he could associate his scorn with me, a woman of wealth. But what I simply could not understand was how hurting me, let alone wishing me dead, would give any closure or reconciliation with his past. He truly was depraved.

Ultimately, it didn't matter if I understood him or not. The simple truth was one of cold and terrifying realisation – if he wanted me dead, there was nothing I could do to save myself. I need only look at my weaker body in a mirror to know that I was helpless to him, especially when the captain's protection over me was gone. The number of ways he could kill me was bound only by the limits of his sick imagination; from the way that he spoke, I doubted that it would be quick and painless. No, he had a vendetta to settle – if killing me was the last opportunity he had to resolve that, then there was no way on earth that he wouldn't savour it. Simply knowing that I would be fretting over it every night was an even sweeter reprisal for him.

My will to escape had never been so urgent and compelling. Even my slim fondness for Edward seemed almost nonexistent, now that my incentive for freedom truly rested on the pinnacle of life or death.

I _had_ to find a way to leave. Until now, I could never have imagined the feeling of being emotionally and physically sickened by worry… but that was the only way I could describe this burden in my stomach. Sickening.

My eyes darted to the closed door, wondering how soon Lyford would return from the upper deck. Inhaling slowly in an attempt to calm my nerves, I glanced quickly across the desk before me for ideas. My hands sifted through the pile of books and loose papers that he'd collected from Jennings' ship, but nothing was of any use to me. The empty glass mugs on his table looked suitable and heavy enough to strike someone over the head, but I immediately rejected the idea. If past experience was anything to go by, violence would do anything buthelp my situation.

Finally, my hurried gaze found the pile of the crew's written letters that sat on the corner of the table. My eyes widened in deliberation, but as I didn't have the luxury of time to ponder whether my impulsive idea was good or incredibly bad, I took an empty sheet of paper and picked up the quill. Rolling it anxiously between my fingers, I hastily searched my mind for suitable words, or anything that Lyford had said that might be of use to me. I pressed the quill's tip into the inkpot, not bothering to dab off the excess as I began to write.

_Cardinal G. A._

_Urgent._

_Currently docked at port in Sao Miguel._

_Captors have set course to Nassau. _

_Send immediate assistance._

_Elisabeth_

My hand lingered on the final letter of my name, considering whether to write my maiden name as well. Deciding that the risk was too great, and that it wouldn't be necessary for the recipient to know who I was, I dropped the quill, quickly blowing against the ink to set it, and folded the paper over to scrawl an address on the front.

Moving quickly, I slipped my note into the centre of the stack of letters, almost scattering them across the desk in my haste. I realigned the pile and stood up from his chair, returning to my place on his bed so to not arouse suspicion when he came back.

Sighing in relief that Lyford hadn't returned in the midst of my plan, I wiped my palms against my shirt, which had become hot and sweaty in my rush. As I sat in patient silence, I entertained the idea of adding further detail to my letter, such as mentioning Edward by name, or Jennings, or even the Jackdaw itself, but the sound of footsteps descending the stairs halted that idea immediately.

When Lyford opened the door, he barely even acknowledged me, his attention set elsewhere as he sat in his chair, rearranging the books and stationery and returning them to their respective draws in the desk. He hadn't even noticed that the quill was on the other side of the table than where he'd left it. When he finally did glance towards me in brief interest, his brows furrowed immediately. "Christ, Elisabeth…"

I stared at him, wide-eyed and momentarily stunned by his concern.

"You look like you seen a bloody ghost."

I looked down and forced a meek smile onto my lips. My transparence must have been far worse that I'd given myself credit for. I still felt terrified from my ordeal with Armas – and, clearly, it showed.

"I'm fine. I've just spent so long on this ship that I'm feeling a slight unwell."

He stared at me for a moment longer, and my heart began to beat so heavily that it was a miracle he couldn't hear my pulse from across the room. He nodded absently, gathering the pile of letters in one hand and pushing his chair into place as he stood. "It ain't healthy to be cooped up on a ship for so long. I need to take everyone's letters down to the mailing port," he gestured to the papers in his hand. "So it'd seem you got no option but to come along."

"But…" I tilted my head in confusion. "But Edward made it quite clear that I had to stay on the ship."

"As far as I know, the Captain said you had to stay with me – so, you comin' or what?" He turned to leave with the stack of letters in hand, and I stood awkwardly, unsure if I should follow or not. Edward had made it plainly obvious that I wasn't to leave the ship, regardless of what Lyford indifferently believed.

I sighed through my nose. To hell with Edward – he probably wouldn't even find out that we'd gone if the trip was quick enough. Closing the door behind me, I followed the sound of Lyford's heavy footsteps to the stairway, quick in my stride so to avoid another encounter with Armas.

As we emerged on the main deck, I realised that all of the crew were gone. The ship looked incredibly bizarre in their absence, and without the tiresome uproar of the men's' banter and yelling it was peaceful, but coldly so, like a graveyard. I was glad to finally step down from the Jackdaw; the sturdy feel of the pier under my bare feet was a welcome change to the ever-swaying movements of the ship.

My relief when we my feet touched solid earth was fleeting, as I soon recognised how incredibly under-dressed I was from the strange glances that I was receiving. Strangers passed me in the bustling marketplace, their gazes lingering in curious distaste at my attire. The oversized shirt was ill fitting and meagre in cleanliness, despite the thorough wash it had received last night. I felt like a peasant, but the thought actually made me laugh despite myself, which earned me a rather confused leer from Lyford.

The mailing port was much closer than I'd expected, so the trip itself didn't take long. The harbor reeked of fish and seaweed, and the incessant shrieking of gulls was almost as loud as the raucous chatter of merchants and mingling commoners. Most of their language was lost to my ears – some of their words I understood, but a great deal of it sounded like uttered nonsense.

It was easy to recognise the foreigners, such as myself, amidst the native people, whom all wore old multicoloured tunics and walked barefoot on the dirt. I appeared very out of place – a white woman dressed in naught but rags.

To my great relief, Lyford didn't notice the additional letter I'd hidden amidst the pile as he handed them over at a busy wooden stall, headed by a broad sign with the word 'MAIL' painted upon it. After paying the postage fare, I offhandedly asked Lyford how long it would take for the letters to reach their destination. He nodded towards two ships docked close to the pier; one vessel was slightly smaller than the Jackdaw, whilst the other was enormous, with sails that were so tall and rigid they seemed to stretch up into the clouds.

"The smaller ship transports mail an' other goods all the way to the West Indies. That big one takes cargo an' mail, sometimes passengers, to the Portuguese mainland."

I raised my eyebrows in mild interest, but inwardly I released a heavy sigh of relief, reassured that my letter _just might_ reach Spain from the mainland. That hope, however slim, was enough to pacify my apprehension for now. Further out on shore, another distinctive pair of ships caught my attention; their respective names were barely legible in the distance. _Aurore_ and _Duc du Maine_.

"Those two… what are those ships?"

Lyford hummed in thought. "I've heard of the Aurore… it's a slaver's ship. The other one is likely the same – they'll both be heading to the New World to sell the thick-lips into slavery."

There was no emotion in his voice. No disdain, or condemnation – but it was clear from his grim expression that he did not admire the trade at all. I could understand why; I had lived my entire life sheltered from oppression of any kind, but the mere thought of the grief that those poor beings endured made my stomach turn in disgust. I did pity Armas for his suffering, but my fear and hatred for him outmatched any trace of compassion I had left for that man. Perhaps… if I'd been born another colour and gender, raised in poverty and hardship, we could have been friends – but not in this lifetime.

* * *

We didn't loiter in the market for very long after Lyford had dealt with the letters. When we returned to the ship, I noticed that Edward was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. The lower deck appeared empty and barren of cargo, compared to what I was accustom to – it made me vaguely wonder how much money the crew had cleared selling all of their stolen goods. I would probably never find out.

As the sun began to descend on the horizon, one by one the men returned to the ship, their pockets flush with coin and their faces reddened from the day's labour. I returned to the solitary comfort of Edward's cabin whilst I waited for him to return.

I knew that none of the crew would be so dense as to harass me after what their Captain had done to the last fool who'd put me in harm's way – the image of Armas' broken nose still brought a glimpse of a smile to my lips – but nevertheless, I felt insecure in their presence. They were dangerous men, each of them menacing in their own way, and without Edward's presence nearby to guard me from them all… I couldn't feel safe.

I closed the door and hastily approached his desk, my attention drawn to the upright cabinet filled with his countless drinks. The inside of my mouth was parched, but I wasn't prepared to soil my lips with any of his foul tasting liquor – especially not that filth he considered _water_. I sat back into his spacious chair, astonished by how comfortably my body sank into the leathered cushions. It was as unexpectedly cozy as it was needlessly ornamental; the decorative threading that ran the length of both arms was perfectly symmetrical, making me assume that it had been hand-crafted by someone of great skill and expertise.

I raised my eyebrows knowingly. He probably stole it.

I leaned forward into the heavy desk and opened a drawer out of curiosity, but found that it was empty. That was odd – I was almost certain that's where he was keeping my jeweler's box. I opened the draw directly below and it, too, was empty. Scowling in annoyance, knowing _exactly _what he must have down with it, I continued to rummage through his drawers to assure myself that it was gone. In the lowest draw was a medium-sized box; my scowl softened in curiosity as I picked it up, noting its misleading heaviness. I placed it on the top of the desk and ran my fingers over the wooden lid, the surface so meticulously polished that the grain was barely visible.

Just as I was about to open the lid, the door to the cabin opened, and I pulled my hands away from the box as though I'd been caught doing something terrible. I gazed up at the captain in stunned innocence, his hood completely concealing his eyes and, therefore, his mood. I stood up from his chair immediately.

"No, by all means, make yourself comfortable," he drawled amusedly, and after a moment of hesitation, I slowly sat back into the chair.

He pulled down the hood and approached with a leisurely stride, and it was only then that I noticed the woven burlap sack over his shoulder.

"What's in the bag?" I said inquiringly, watching him with interest.

"All in good time, my dear." I frowned at the patronizing tone, but said nothing.

"It is rather impolite to rummage through someone else's belongings…" he commented offhandedly, glancing towards the wooden box on his desk, rightfully assuming that I'd been searching through his drawers.

I shrugged, almost smirking at his choice of wording. "Well, excuse me while I die of irony. Perhaps I should leave petty theft up to those with the aptitude for it." His eyes narrowed at the small taunt, but he paid no heed to my sarcasm.

"What were you looking for?"

"My jeweler's box, and the necklace inside it. I can only assume that you sold them, along with the rest of your _stolen_ goods."

"Of course not," he replied smoothly. My expression changed to one of hopeful suspicion, before he continued. "I used them to barter with. They wouldn't have been valuable enough to sell outright."

I huffed in annoyance, knowing that he was only baiting me to add further insult. "You're a pig, Edward."

"Oh Elisabeth, you wound me," he droned in feigned offense, before he withdrew something from his belt. "Here, take this – before I change my mind."

I accepted his offering in puzzlement, staring down at the small pouch he placed into my hand. By the weight and sound of it, it obviously held a significant amount of coins, but the meaning behind them had me stunned. "What… what is this?"

"You thought your labour was for free?" he crossed his arms over his chest, taking great enjoyment in my confusion. "That is the money you've earned working alongside my crew – less the amount it will take for me to replace the rigging you damaged."

I ignored his final remark, opening the pouch out of interest; my eyes widened slightly at the surprising amount of money held inside. I couldn't possibly imagine how much he would have paid the rest of his crew, or what he kept for himself.

What was even more surprising was that I felt a peculiar sense of gratitude towards him. Not for the money itself, but for the fact that I was valued enough to receive it. He was right – I'd simply assumed that my labour, albeit forced, was expected of me without any payment. Never would I have anticipated to be paid for the amount of times I'd sanded down the deck, splintered my feet on the wood and burnt my skin in the sun. It was… strangely warming, to be thought of as more than a lowly prisoner.

I almost thanked him, but I immediately reminded myself that I was still being held here against my will. No amount of payment would change that.

"This is…" I hesitated, trying to find the right words without actually showing him appreciation. "This is very decent of you."

"Well, only when it suits me," he reminded me smugly, and almost straight away the pleasant moment was over. "Which brings me to my next issue – I want that shirt back."

I shook my head, touching the hem of the shirt defensively. There wasn't a chance in hell of me giving up the last scrap of dignity clothing my body. "No."

He raised his eyebrows incredulously at my tone. "Oh – is that so?"

My hand clenched against the fabric, my small voice sounding remarkably brave. "You can have your shirt back when you pry it from my dead body – until then, you'll have to wait."

He brushed the hair from his forehead in mild irritation. "Don't tempt me."

I crossed my arms firmly, almost as if to secure the shirt to my chest if he decided to try and rip it off. Perhaps I could reason with him – though he wasn't particularly prone to listening to me at all, with or without reason.

"Please, Edward, you've already sold what little belongings I had left. This…" I gestured to my loose shirt. "…is _all_ I have."

"Well, then…" he slumped the woven sack on the desk before me. "This should remedy that."

I cast a dubious frown towards the limp sack, which appeared loose and empty. "I hope you mean the contents of the bag, rather than the bag itself," I muttered as I began to unravel the tied knot. If he expected me to wear a woven sack like a common peasant…

Inside the bag, I caught a glimpse of an olive-dyed material. I slowly pulled it out, letting the soft garment unfold of its own accord. The dress was simple, reminiscent of a tunic; warm green in color, the unassumingly shallow neckline was hemmed with a dark golden seem. The delicate threads extended towards the waistline and met in an intricately stitched design over the hips. What interested me the most was how it appeared to lace up from the front, beneath the bust, rather than along the spine as were most dresses I was accustomed to.

"Edward, I…" my voice stopped suddenly as my eyes widened in disbelief. "I can't accept this. I will _not_ be placated with absurd gifts - purchased with your ill-gotten money, I can only assume."

"You are mistaken." His voice was firm, his response indifferent to my judgmental tone. "That was not purchased with my money, and it is most certainly not a gift."

Glaring at him, my mouth opened immediately to rebuke, but he interrupted me as if anticipating what I was going to say. "Nor was it stolen, before you ask. Everything in that bag was bartered in exchange for that shiny little box of yours. I decided to trade it for things that might actually be useful for you now."

I glanced towards the bag, wondering if there was anything else inside it. "That was not for you to decide."

A trace of a smirk appeared at the very edge of his lips, clearly deliberating over a patronising response, but he merely shrugged in disinterest. "Perhaps if you weren't so stubborn, you'd receive this kindness without complaint. The dress _is_ yours, after all. It was purchased with your property."

"Then extend me another kindness and allow me the privacy to get dressed." I stood up from the chair, choosing to just accept his peace offering if it would make him leave any sooner. "Please."

Without a word or a smile, he left me alone in the room, and the tension released in my body at his departure was a thing of bliss and surprise. I hadn't noticed how tense I'd become simply by being in the same room as him. I feared him, yes, I would have been a fool if I didn't - but it was something beyond my fear that made me uncomfortable in his presence. His kindness towards me had made me furious, mostly at myself for letting my anger be softened by such trivial gestures of civility.

Sighing in annoyance at my inner conflict, I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and donned the green dress, conscious that he might return before I was even decent. The dress' material was lenient and stretched to my fuller figure, accommodating for the areas on my body that were plumper than most. I was not a large lady by any means, but nor was I a petite, dainty thing that could be knocked aside by a breath of wind. My shape fit neither definition, and its curving silhouette had always been a nightmare for tailors to fit. This dress was no exception; it was a slight tight against my chest, but it was nothing that would cause discomfort, seeing as I was conditioned to the breathless grip of a corset.

I exhaled slowly and tightened the overlapping laces along the front of the dress, pleased with how the skirt gathered evenly around my legs. The dress was perhaps somewhat small, but I wasn't overly bothered, considering it was far more flattering that what I had previously been forced to wear.

I sat myself on the table and dragged the open bag towards me, curious to see what else Edward had managed to barter with my jeweler's box. A dark, metallic handle caught my attention, and as I gripped it I recognised exactly what it was.

I lifted up the handheld mirror, turning it over to admire the intricate metalwork. The material appeared to be pewter on the rear side, but painted gold on the front, and the frame was twisted beautifully into a regal, floral design. Enamel butterflies, coloured lavender and white, were fixed into the frame; it looked like it belonged in the bedroom of a pampered twelve year old girl. It wouldn't surprise me if that was the very reason why Edward had given it to me.

He thought I was vain, and perhaps he was right. I didn't find his impression of me in the least bit offensive, as I simply didn't care for his opinion. He was a pirate, and I was a noblewoman; our lives shared so little common ground that neither of us would ever be able to respect nor even understand the other's way of life. I was content for things to stay that way.

My fingers caressed the sleek, pewter handle, my mind torn between the curiosity of looking at myself in the mirror, and the apprehension of what I might see within it.

Well, if he truly thought me vain, I may as well have indulged in the luxury of being vain, rather than making a futile effort to prove him wrong. I looked into the mirror, my expression blank and impassive.

So stunned but what I saw, I slapped my hand over my mouth… not in horror, but in an attempt to suppress my laughter. I looked ridiculous, of course, but hilariously so, and I couldn't help but smile giddily at the strange girl grinning back at me. It usually took the assistance of two maids to tame my thick hair into the long ringlets my mother coveted, but now, it resembled a golden mane in a state of dire neglect. It framed my face in messy waves, and its light blonde colour emphasised every speck of dirt and dust.

Sighing, I soon lost interest in the utter madness of my hair, and instead looked to my face in scrutiny. Obviously, it was still mostly the same; my left cheek still possessed the faint smallpox scarring I'd had since I was a child. My lips were still too broad to complement the small contour of my nose. My wide eyes, which usually gleamed a fair hazel hue, had been dulled by the dark circles emerging beneath; their bruising violet colour was in no way redeeming on the pale canvas of my face, but it seemed appropriate, as I hadn't had a decent sleep since I'd been captured.

How long had that been? Two… perhaps three weeks…

Surely it couldn't it have been any longer that that?

My smile faded as I stared at myself again in contemplation, noting my features separately. I was not conventionally pretty, but in a way that still held attention out of intrigue. I had seen so many women of the court who had boundless beauty, that of sweet and innocent children; pink cheeks, petite lips, high foreheads… but I was something else entirely. I had never been a dainty little thing with a quiet mouth – I was always the buxom one with the hunger to ask questions and flout boundaries. Eventually, that had changed when maturity taught me to behave, but I still remained almost wild in heart, and this was reflected in my unconventionally dynamic appearance.

My 'beauty' was fierce and challenging; one that had to be looked upon twice to be considered anything at all desirable. I did not have the look of a passive wife, but of a woman who would sooner sink her teeth into a man's loin than lay back and receive it otherwise.

I dropped the mirror carelessly against the table, searching through the bag again. I audibly breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted the castile soap and hairbrush amidst a few smaller items which caught very little of my interest – hair pins, a few odd earrings, and a white silk kerchief with faded print. It was a shame that there weren't any shoes to cover my feet, or ribbon to secure my hair up, but beggars couldn't be choosers. I'd never fully understood the extent of that saying until now, after living my life wanting for nothing.

The hairbrush was far less ostentatious than the mirror, with an ebony handle and what appeared to be boar bristles along the paddle. It seemed clean, and so without hesitation, I began the painful task of unsnarling my hair from its beastly disarray.

When Edward returned to the room, without even knocking, I might add, I was still preoccupied with my unruly hair, and I had reached the point of frustration where I was practically raking the brush through the tangles without patience. I was beginning to wonder whether I'd created more knots that what I'd started with. I heard Edward quietly laugh at my struggle, and my jaw clenched in resentment at the sound.

"I see you've acquainted yourself with everything…"

I didn't look up. "Not everything. Most of the things in that bag are worthless to me, though I managed to find a use for some of it."

Finally, when my scalp could take no more, I pulled my hair back and tied it up with the kerchief, the silk fabric having a very poor hold on my curly tresses. Even after securing my hair high upon the back of my head, its length still fell just below the midsection of my back; the shorter strands came loose and curled awkwardly around my face, but as my intention was not to look fashionable, I didn't bother fixing or adjusting my hair. As long as it was mostly out of my eyes and no longer a nuisance, I was satisfied.

"Worthless?" Edward repeated back at me, his voice unimpressed. "You shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, my dear."

"I thought you said that these weren't gifts, _sir_." My tone oozed sarcasm on the final word as I raised a brow inquiringly. I knew I wasn't helping myself by being so haughty, but I was in no state for pleasantries, which was what the captain seemed to be expecting from me.

He shook his head to conceal his faint smirk. "How on earth you managed to get married with a mouth like that is beyond me."

I snorted in contempt, unsurprised that he would make such a low blow in attempt to silence me. "I could say the very same for you."

He brushed past me, seemingly unaffected by my quick riposte, though even if I had managed to insult him he would be unlikely to show it. He was emotionally opaque – guarded, hidden and apathetic.

I was a stark contrast, and emotionally transparent – quick to anger, petty with my words, and unyielding in my response. I lacked his restraint, yet that did not mean I couldn't hide my feelings if it meant preserving my pride, as I had done on numerous occasions so far.

I was a little unnerved when he sat down at the edge of his desk without first taking a short detour to his liquor cabinet. He simply stared at me with an intense look of thought, hands pressed rigidly against the dark, flat wood. I stared back at him impassively, unsure of the reason behind his concentration, until he spoke. "You look… plain."

I folded my arms and smiled at his comment, knowing better than to be offended by it. He clearly wanted a response – one that I was not prepared to give.

When he realised that my silence was unyielding, a half-grin stole the seriousness from his face, and he pushed himself off of the table and strode towards me. "Turn around."

I glanced at him in confusion, but complied, turning away from him. "Why?"

"Because…" I felt his breath at my shoulder and froze, almost pulling away in confusion.

"W-what are you-"

"_Shush,_" he commanded softly, sweeping the few loose strands of hair across my shoulder with his hand. I felt something cold tickle my neck, and my fingers quickly moved to my throat to touch the pendant dangling over my collarbone. My eyes widened.

"My necklace?" I whispered in confusion, knowing that it was mine without even needing to look down at it. I glanced back towards him "I thought you sold this?"

"You thought wrong," he replied earnestly, looking down at the gold pendant that gleamed upon my rosy-burnt skin. "That looks much better."

"Thank you," I murmured absently, almost rendered speechless by the kind gesture. I didn't _want_ to him to be kind to me; in a strange way, I wanted to stay resentful towards him, so that when I finally returned home I would have no remorse. As much as I hated to admit, I was warming to his brash ways, despite every effort I made to be repulsed by him. My cold, impassive resolve was thawing, and I internally cursed at myself for being so soft and naïve.

He didn't say anything – he simply watched me battle with my emotions, wearing a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. Noticing his interest, I gazed down at the floor, not wanting to look him in the face and feel any more fondness for the man.

Perhaps I could change the subject. "That box on your desk… what's inside it?"

His hand hovered protectively over the box I'd obtained from his drawer, though his unnerving gaze remained on me. His voice lowered, resonating darkly with warning. "That is none of your concern, girl."

"Oh, I…" my voice weakened in embarrassment as a hot sensation spread through my cheeks. I stuttered to regain my composure at his threatening tone of voice. "I-I didn't mean to… I didn't think-"

His gruff laughter interrupted my stammering, the grimness of his face replaced by sheer amusement. "Christ, you need to lighten up. It's just a humidor," he spoke in between his husky laughter, opening its wooden lid. "It holds my cigars. Satisfied?"

"No," I glared at him, frustrated that he found amusement at my expense. "Smoking tobacco is a little pretentious… even for you."

He shrugged lightly. "I could care less for what you think, Elisabeth. These are probably the only decent thing the Spanish have given to the world."

I frowned at his offensive words, not understanding why he, too, loathed Spaniards along with the rest of his crew. It probably wasn't an appropriate time to question him on it.

He noticed my displeasure and smirked conceitedly. "Perhaps your mind would be swayed if you tried one…"

My mouth puckered in disgust. "I'd rather catch the Black Death then have that filth near my lips."

He grinned in response, obviously spurred by some crude inside joke. "My dear, if I had a golden guinea for every time a woman said that to me in bed…"

"Classy, Edward. Your mother must be so proud of you," I interjected his lewd comment before he could finish, the sarcasm rolling from my tongue before I could stop it. His unsmiling expression made me wish I'd kept my mouth shut. He didn't respond immediately, his frown deepening until reaching the creases of his dark eyes.

"You know…" he began slowly, approaching me with a vaguely dangerous glint in his eyes. "Your novelty is wearing thin on me, girl. _Never_ speak of my mother again."

My eyes enlarged cautiously, shocked by his sudden change in mood. "Edward, I…"

"Stop talking." The seriousness of his voice would have stilled the tongue of any brave man. Unfortunately, I was no brave man, but a foolish girl – confused by his fury, I continued to speak, hoping that my apologies might soften his anger.

"I'm sorry, Edward, I shouldn't have-"

"Do I need to remove a part of your body that will make it physically impossible for you to keep talking?"

"If you will just _listen_ to me for once," I snapped, blatantly ignoring his threat. "I was trying to apologise for my inappropriate comment."

He breathed in, apparently trying to regain himself. I understood that my mentioning of his mother was uncalled for, given that I knew nothing of his relationship with her – but a small part of me was intrigued that I had managed to strike a nerve. I'd found an Achilles ankle that could actually goad emotion from him. That could be useful in the future.

He stared at me callously. "Do not speak to me as though we are friends. I have killed men for less."

"Then it is a good thing I am not a man," I calmly rebuked without missing a breath, my voice apathetic. He could intimidate me, yes – but he could not threaten me, as I knew it was all empty. For whatever purpose he refused to share, he was keeping me alive and captive for a reason, and it was unlikely that he'd cause me harm with the intention of keeping me.

From the look in his eye, it appeared he was aware of that as well. He sighed in frustration; his tolerance seemingly vanished as he paced briskly towards the cabin door.

"Wait, where are you going?" I questioned as his fingers gripped the handle. He paused at the sound of my voice, which had become softened by my curiosity. Glancing back at me, I noticed that the anger held in his expression had softened as well, though his eyes remained serious. "To find an inn with cheap rum, above average women, and a bed… not necessarily in that order."

With nothing else to say, he pulled the door open and walked out into the darkness. I noticed that he left it slightly ajar, but I was unsure whether that was an invitation for me to follow, or merely a declaration of his indifference to closing doors.

I pursed my lips in thought. Did I really want to join him? The idea of hordes of drunken men, shouting, brawling and debauching poor women, both repelled and intrigued me. It was more than likely that all of the crew would be joining in on the revelries as well, enlivened by their newly misbegotten riches.

Well, all but one – I doubted that Armas would be leaving the ship after the captain had broken his nose and, more importantly, bruised his ego. The thought of being alone on a ship with that beast caused a shudder to rise along the nape of my neck.

I sighed at the irony of my indecision – which was the lesser of evils? Joining in on the wild and unruly chaos of countless drunken, stinking men… or remaining trapped on a ship with a single man who wished me dead.

Regardless of my impossible decision, I knew this was going to be a long night.

* * *

**Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and all concepts therein belong to Ubisoft. I own nothing! :) **

**Woooh the next chapter should be fun (well, maybe not for Elisabeth, but who cares about her anyway?)**

**See you all soon!**


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